Something I need
by DeannaReadX
Summary: Stiles goes through a lot for his friends. He loves them a lot, he really does. And he sacrifices a lot for them and their sourpuss of an alpha. But sometimes things change, sometimes you lose people that are important to you and you can't stop it. Sometimes you just have to get out. Sometimes you make decisions as a result of grief. But really, Stiles just wants to live.
1. Stiles fixing duty

I thought I already uploaded this here, but apparently I didn't. So yeah. This is going to be very slow considering I don't have a lot of time to do the whole fanfiction thing lately, but it is multi-chaptered and I have pretty much half of it done already. I'm enjoying writing this, but I'm aware its a little mediocre sounding, I'm still getting used to writing Stiles and Derek, bare with me :D

Enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading. Next chapter should be edited and up by tomorrow hopefully, if not, today.

Dee xx

* * *

Stiles' shoulders lowered, eyes rolling in frustration when he answered the door to Derek who was stood on the doorstep, hands in his pockets, expression not as blank as it normally was. The hazel green eyes widened when they rested on the gash going across Stiles' cheek and the swelling left eye that he could barely see through. Derek's hand grabbed his cheek, turning his head sideways to get a proper look at the injury just under his cheekbone, a vein in Derek's jaw throbbing as it tensed in anger.

"Who did this?" he said, his voice gruff and tight.

"Derek – it – it's noth-"

"Stiles, this isn't nothing!" Derek growled in outrage, flicking the hem of his shirt up at the bottom. Stiles' hands immediately went to pull it down fast, backing off slightly, his face and body language tired and distracted. He didn't want to have to explain this again, he just wanted to be left alone.

"Stiles, lift it up," Derek breathed, tone low and demanding, obviously making a painful effort to keep his temper at bay.

"Look, I told you, it's nothing, just a couple of scratches!" Stiles snapped, getting impatient himself. He didn't want anyone right now, he just wanted to hole up in his bedroom and ignore his problems.

"Stiles if you don't show me your stomach, I'm going to rip the t-shirt off you," he said, voice raising now, chest rising and falling heavier, hands clenched into fists.

"For god sake, you're such a fucking drama queen sometimes," Stiles hissed, the nausea creeping back into his gut now. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep, calming breath before nodding. Not looking at the alpha, he took a shaky handful of his Metallica t-shirt, lifting it over his stomach muscles to show the bumpy black, blue and purple bruises covering almost the entire stretch of skin.

"It's fine; Gerard got hold of me, but I'm fine," Stiles insisted, dropping the fabric of his shirt and stepping aside, knowing that Derek would only barge his way in anyway.

"I'm going to kill him, I'll rip his throat out an-"

"Yes, because that's going to solve all our problems, isn't it?" Stiles drawled, reluctantly allowing Derek to sit him down on the sofa and go to the freezer to get some ice.

"It'll certainly make mine a lot more manageable," Derek replied in a half growl, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, pulling a first aid kit out of the pocket of his usual leather jacket.

"Dude, calm it, you're shaking like a leaf," Stiles remarked, glaring when Derek raised one eyebrow.

"So are you," he retorted, gesturing down in Stiles' lap. It was true, Stiles hadn't even realised how much his thin hands had been quivering until Derek pointed it out.

"Well why have you got a first aid kit? You don't need it, you heal naturally!" Stiles asked, directing the attention away from him. Derek didn't have to know that he saw and felt Gerard Argent's fist colliding with his face every time he closed his eyes. To make it worse, Stiles hadn't showered yet, so he was pretty sure Derek could still smell his attacker on him.

"I have it in case stupid humans like _you_ get themselves into situations like this when they're supposed to be in-" he broke of, letting out a hiss of air through his nose before pursing his lips ever so slightly and unzipping the small bag, setting up the needle and stitches.

"When they're supposed to be in what, alpha-boy?" Stiles demanded, pressing to hear what Derek had stopped himself from saying. He didn't mean to sound so sarcastic and patronising, but he was stressed and really, really pissed off and his patience was just wearing thin.

"It doesn't matter"

"Right, because nothing matters tonight, does it?"

"I didn't say that"

"Well what _were_ you going to say then?"

"I told you-"

"Derek!"

"Fine!" Derek snapped, jaw stiffening, adams apple moving as he swallowed heavily, bowing his head slightly "when stupid humans like _you_ get themselves into situations like this when they're supposed to be in my care. I'm responsible for you, and I can't have you ending up like this dammit! Are you happy now you little shit?" Derek blurted angrily. Stiles had to pin his own lips together to stop himself from smirking or laughing, but at the same time he wanted to whack the Alpha wolf around the head for being so dumb.

"Man, you are _not_ responsible for me. I don't need you blaming yourself for this as well as Scott, who, by the way, is also being talked off the Gerard-hunt by Isaac. You shouldn't be here, you should be at the warehouse making sure your cubs are okay," Stiles sighed, shaking his head and wincing as Derek ignored his advice, jumping straight into stitching the gash on his cheek.

"Shit Derek, that freaking hurts!"

"Well it's not going to feel like I'm giving you a hand-job is it? Dumbass. As for Erica and Boyd, Isaac is keeping me updated; Scott's even more angry than I am, so I'm on Stiles-fixing duty"

"I don't need fixing, why does everyone think I need fixing? I'm dealing with thi- ahhhh! Oww! Fuck!" Stiles coughed, biting down hard on his tongue to stop himself from spazzing out when Derek started on the third loop of stitch.

"Oh really? So you weren't crying in your room three minutes before I got here then?" Derek said solidly, stopping for a second and staring Stiles in the eye, lids narrowed slightly, daring him to deny it. Stiles simply looked away silently, swallowing the still present lump in his throat that was stinging his eyes "didn't think so. Now shut up and let me do this for you"

Stiles said nothing whilst Derek finished closing up the cut, or when he dabbed it with alcohol again to clean the outside. He didn't even speak when he was handed a small bottle of vodka. He only grumbled and hissed slightly when Derek moved his arms above his head and carefully lifted his top off, pushing him backward on the sofa so he could start on tending to the smaller cuts on Stiles' stomach.

"You should go now; damage control and all that," Stiles said quietly, voice low and moody as Derek finished.

Stiles sat clutching the bottle of vodka in his hand, sipping at it occasionally; bare, bruised back arched, head bowed, eyes closed and wet with tears of endurance from all the pain of having his injuries tended to unrestrictedly. That's when he realised he was glad it was Derek 'fixing' him, and not Scott, who would have pussy footed around attempting to half-assedly sort out his afflictions without hurting him at all. Which, really, wasn't actually possible. But Stiles didn't get why everyone was so bothered by it all, it wasn't the first time he'd been beaten up; although it hadn't happened in many years, and the bullying had pretty much stopped when he'd entered high school. But he hadn't known Derek back then, so he supposed that the alpha just wasn't used to it.

However, Derek was handling it pretty well considering they had sort of a 'thing' going on the last couple of weeks. It wasn't serious, and Derek was doing the broody-wolf dance that meant it had taken Stiles months to even work him up enough to break him and make him give up denying his feelings. So there was no way they were going to sit and have a long talk about what the real reason of Derek's anger at Stiles' pain was. But this whole time of 'fixing' was enough for him to know that the weakness-of-the moment make out sessions weren't just the meaningless horny groping times they seemed to be. At least Stiles knew that the ridiculous man cared about him to some extent.

Scott had actually explained the whole 'wolf attraction' thing to him when he'd asked him about Allison and why he was so protective over her. He'd told Stiles that it was different for a werewolf, and that intimacy was always heightened and lust became burning passion that was incredibly hard to resist; that when a wolf becomes connected to a person in any way, it automatically sort of stakes a claim of safety over them. He guessed that Derek just had a bit of an over-protective-alpha streak.

"I'm on strict orders not to leave you," Derek said a little awkwardly, with an underlining annoyance at the job he'd been given.

"I thought you were pack daddy," Stiles teased, managing to at least attempt a go at pretending to be his normal self.

"You ever call me that again and I'll put my hand through your chest cavity and tear out your lungs," Derek said, unamused by the nickname. Stiles huffed a chuckle, flashing a momentary quirk of his mouth. There were a few seconds of thick silence before Derek drew in a deep, slow breath "smile please Stiles," his voice was quiet, a pained frown creasing his brow. Normally, Stiles would have taken the piss out of this, or made a sarcastic comment; but he couldn't bring himself to. The need behind the request broke him a little, stunning him speechless and shocking him completely.

"I don't see a lot to smile about to be honest. Maybe when I'm not half-cut and drugged up on codeine, I'll be able to grin a lot wider. But my Adderall doesn't like being mixed with pain killers, so you never know, I could end up getting too hyper later and passing out," Stiles sighed back, shrugging, but wincing at the way it stretched the sore muscles around his bruised spine.

"It- it just doesn't look right, seeing you this- this-"

"This screwed up?" he snapped "dude, do you even know my little sob story? My mom died when I was ten, my dad was an alcoholic for four years! I'm- I _have_ to be what I am – this... this cheeky, hyper, mouthy little bastard – because if I don't do this whole sarcasm, idiot thing, I'll go out of my freaking mind," Stiles choked out in exasperation, shaking his head to himself.

"I know you're messed up, asshole" Derek snapped back "we all are, I wasn't asking that. I was asking to see you smile because _I_ can't smile right now, and the only time I can ever seem to manage a smile is when-" Derek cut himself off again before he could say something that meant their 'thing' was real. Before he could verbally acknowledge the fact that they were somewhat of a less-than-platonic item. That was scary. This was scary.

Dammit, the whole aspect of Stiles' life was terrifying, and he couldn't even properly distinguish when it had gotten so messy.

"Look, Derek, I can't deal with this type of drama right now, I can't even contemplate with your lack of ability to admit that you care about anyone but yourself; I've got bigger problems than you and me, so if you're going to be an unemotional bastard, then I think you should just go," Stiles said with his own jaw clenched, eyes stinging again because he didn't want to say that, he didn't really want to be that up front, he didn't want to make Derek run away.

But it was true.

"I don't know what you want me to say!" Derek blasted, throwing his hands up and letting them flop, looking alarmed and helpless "you know I'm not good at this, I'm only good at yelling and being selfish"

"I don't want you to say anything. Not right now. Right now I need you to either shut up, or leave. Watching you try this hard is exhausting," Stiles ended up huffing with finality, kicking off a longer stretch of silence that was less painful and awkward "also, you're not selfish," he added as a moody side note, dropping his chin to his chest and keeping his eyes low.

Eventually, Stiles leaned back against the sofa, swigging the vodka. After about twenty minutes of staring into space, Derek moved to sit next to him with a brooding, tired puff of breath, and lifted an arm, pulling Stiles' head to his shoulder. He pressed a rough kiss to his temple before resting the arm on the back of the furniture and relaxing.

And that was how they both fell asleep.


	2. That's heroic, can we make out now?

Yay, second chapter. Turns out I'm getting more done today than I thought I would

Enjoy, review, and thanks.

Deexx

* * *

Stiles drove up to the Hale house in his Jeep fast, swerving it into a random space and slamming the door open hard, jumping out and sprinting up to the house, barging through the front door.

"Why did no one tell me? Dammit," Stiles yelled to whoever was in the house. He flinched hard when Derek popped up behind him, the only indication that he'd moved was the flash of cold air.

"Because, you're still recovering and I'm not having you involved in this," Derek said in a controlled way, a look in his eyes that said he knew getting Stiles to let this go was going to be difficult.

"Dude, don't do that to me!" Stiles exclaimed, hands flailing about in exasperation.

"Well you burst into my house yelling about not being kept up to date, and I've learned that ignoring you until you go away is next to impossible, so I'm telling you; I don't want you in on this Stiles, it's too dangerous," Derek repeated in a firmer voice, looking very insistent. Stiles glared hard at him, folding his arms over his chest and sitting down with his legs crossed on the floor. He stuck his chin up, pouting defiantly.

"Fine, I'm not moving until you tell me about what's really going on"

"You're a seventeen year old man Stiles, don't make me throw you over my shoulder and run you back to your father's house"

"My dad would shoot you blind"

"Not if I told him the ridiculousness of what you're asking me. This is not just Peter this time Stiles, he's a walk in the park compared to these Alphas I've got on my back and they've already got my pack members, which means they have me already," Derek said angrily, still obviously struggling not to chuck Stiles through the front door and leave him coughing in the dirt.

"Erica and Boyd are my friends too-"

"No Stiles!"

"Yes Derek!"

"For fuck sake, you're being childish"

"And you're being a sour wolf"

"No, I'm being protective of one of the very few people I actually give a shit about!" Derek yelled, hint of a deep, guttural growl at the end of the last few syllables. Stiles didn't know what to say. He was very rarely rendered speechless, and when he was, it always seemed to involve the surly alpha. He knew how much it got to Derek when he was forced into admitting that he cared about anyone but himself and the pack he was instinctively obligated to save.

"Wow, that was kind of hot"

"Stiles!"

"What? I'm just saying"

"Well stop speaking and go home"

"Train me then," Stiles challenged, jumping to his feet, deciding that the defiance plan was not having any effect on the alpha. He smirked a little, unable to help himself when a look of shock on Derek's face dissolved into exasperation.

"No, you shouldn't even have to fight"

"Look, okay, I get that you're all 'big bad wolf' guy and I get that you like having control over people, and frankly, sometimes you scare the shit out of me. But I'm worth a fucktonne more than you take me for and it's really attractive that you're trying to protect me – by the way, I will be kissing you for that later on – but I still have my own mind and choices, and I want you to train me to fight properly," Stiles said, resisting the urge to stomp his foot in finality.

"I shouldn't have to," Derek huffed in a sad way, dropping his head down slightly after staring for a few seconds. Stiles closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, reaching out and putting a hand firmly on the alpha's shoulder, quirking the side of his mouth that wasn't sore.

"None of us should, but I'm not about to let you all take this on without me. Derek, you know me, did you really think I was just going to let this go?" he said with a soft, breathy chuckle, flicking the older man's chin to make him look up again.

"Have you been sleeping?" Derek asked, brow furrowing into the broody, tense frown he always produced when he was suffering a great inner conflict. Which meant he pretty much looked like that all the time.

"Have _you _been sleeping?"

"Fuck you"

"Sure man, what time should I come over later so we can make out?" Stiles grinned, ducking when Derek swung his hand in the direction of his head.

"GO HOME STILES!" Derek yelled and Stiles nodded, laughing and ducking when a plank of wood came flying at him from Derek's general direction.

"Right, okay, going now. I'll call you later man," Stiles chuckled, calling over his shoulder as he limped back out to his Jeep and jumped back inside it, thoroughly satisfied that he had made his point and had gotten what he wanted, which was nearly always the case with the emotionally constipated alpha.

* * *

Stiles ducked again when a fist came at his face, jumping to the side as a huge foot was aimed at his abdomen, hiding behind a tree.

"Woah, what the hell?" Stiles exclaimed exasperatedly, peeking out from his hiding place to where Derek was stood, looking pissed off and stressed again.

"You wanted me to teach you how to fight Stiles, yet you've got literally hardly any meat on your bones"

"Hey! I've been working out this year, I'm stronger than you think!" Stiles retorted, coming out from behind the branches and pouted, looking offended as he crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

It was actually true. Stiles' previously almost scarily thin physique had definitely improved in the last few months; he was working harder in nearly every aspect of his life, rarely even having a moment to himself or to sit down; apart from the previous month where he'd been ordered strictly to bed rest and to not move his rib cage too much. It wasn't his fault though; his medication cause growth halts and fatigue. It would either have made him really short, or really thin. He happened to have drawn the scrawny card.

Although, Stiles had put on at least ten pounds extra muscle and had to buy slightly bigger t-shirts and jeans to fit over his body. But, he still needed to work on physical stamina. Running around in life and death situations and moving around at every opportunity wasn't enough; the muscle had to hold some solidarity to it. He had to have endurance, readiness. He had no problem with speed or agility, it was just getting that routine in so that he'd be ready to properly hold himself in a fighting situation. Especially when they had an alpha pack trying to challenge them.

"Well let's start with the basics then; running. You run for three hours a day on the track I mark out for you in the woods. You come back to the house, rest for five minutes, and then do seventy press ups followed by ten crunches. You leave it an hour, then you go upstairs and use my weight lifting equipment for ninety minutes.

Don't make that face at me Stiles, if you're going to do this, you're going to have to do it properly or not at all. Then we'll start combat training," Derek spoke forcefully, wiping a line of sweat from his brow and squinting through the sun beaming down on the town.

"How long did it take your pack to get to the right stage for combat training?" Stiles asked uneasily, but ready all the same. He could feel that determination in his gut again and he almost growled at his own freaking competitiveness and inability to refuse a challenge and prove himself.

"Erica managed it before the others, it took her two and a half weeks and she ate nothing but steak and vegetables," Derek informed, eyes recognising the familiar look of stubbornness on Stiles' face, bristling in irritation. If he had it his way, Stiles would go far away and never have to come back and deal with all this messed up shit ever again.

"Holy-"

"Come back tomorrow morning, be well rested, you're going out running first thing," he snapped, turning on his heel and walking back into the house, leaving a deflated Stiles huffing at his own freaking inability to keep himself out of undesirably exhausting situations.

* * *

"Five minutes rest is up, press ups," Derek yelled from inside the house whilst Stiles lay panting on the dry floor outside the Hale house, water bottle empty, dripping with sweat. He pulled himself up on all fours before stretching out with a groan and getting on with the press ups he knew Derek was counting from the kitchen window.

Running wasn't so bad until he got to the last two miles, and the sun started to come up properly in the sky. His body hurt, his ribs ached, and the sweat was stinging the cut on his cheekbone. He probably shouldn't have agreed to do such an extensive routine so soon after having the shit beat out of him; but he wanted this. He wanted to feel strong, to not have to run away all the time.

Sixty nine, seventy. Stiles coughed out the little air he had left in his lungs and just managed to spin himself on his back before he collapsed so that he didn't land on his rib cage.

"Three minutes, and then you're doing twenty crunches," a voice said from about five yards away and a fresh, ice cold bottle of water was thrown at the ground next to him. He eagerly sat up and poured half the bottle over his head, immediately feeling relieved at the change in temperature chasing away the blistering heat tanning his pale skin.

"You're doing well," the stoic voice said once more before Derek went back inside. Stiles collapsed back again, throwing his head back and attempting to breathe slower so his lungs didn't feel like they were bursting. Stiles didn't need telling this time; he simply downed the rest of his water and started on the crunches, ignoring the burning in his stomach muscles and concentrating on breathing as steadily as possible. He knew cramp was just a build-up of lactic acid in his muscles, and that oxygen broke it down. Once he was done, he just about managed to pull himself to his feet as Scott pulled up in the driveway with Isaac, Jackson and Lydia.

Immediately Scott and Isaac moved to take some of his weight, seeing the pained look on Stiles' face and Lydia grinned softly at him, pressing a well done kiss to his cheek and taking Jackson's hand, leading them all into the house. Scott helped him sit on the newly renovated sofa before plonking himself down next to him, Isaac on the other side.

"Derek, are you sure it's healthy for him to be working this hard?" Lydia asked as she sat herself down on Jackson's lap. He switched the TV on, lazily flicking through the channels with his usual moody disposition.

Isaac frowned slightly, but relaxed a moment later.

"He's fine, it'll do his body some good to be out of bed now he's recovering," Derek said shortly, walking into the room and wordlessly handing Scott and Jackson a beer. Lydia got a lemonade because she wasn't drinking alcohol; it was all part of her new detox program. Stiles simply got yet another bottle of water chucked at his chest and he had already drank half of it before Lydia could say her next sentence.

"You've changed your tune, you were growling about him not looking after himself properly the other day-"

"He's fine. Stiles, you're fine, right?" Derek insisted firmly despite the second question having a slight falter to it. Stiles nodded once, not sure he even had the energy to talk at that moment.

"Yay! Now we've established that your pet human is skipping pretty; how about we remind ourselves that we have half a pack missing?" Jackson remarked in his usual sarcastic drawl, eyeing Derek expectantly.

"Chris found his dad and put a bullet in his head. They burned his body last week. I had a word with Deaton early this morning and he's working on a locator spell using Erica's hairbrush and Boyd's jacket. We're still trying to get a hold of their cell phone signals and I thought we could have another go at tracking them later on," Derek informed stonily, jawline set straight, not looking at anyone in particular.

Stiles watched the Alpha's eyes though, the twitching in his right eyebrow and the flexing and unflexing of his fist. Wow. Something he'd been realising more and more about Derek Hale was that he took responsibility very seriously. He was responsible for Erica and Boyd, he was responsible for Scott and Jackson and Isaac; they were his pack, he was their alpha he had an obligation to keep them safe and to make sure they were happy. And apparently he had assumed responsibility over Stiles as well.

Two of the most important people in his life had been kidnapped in order to get at him; and it was. It was most certainly getting at him. Stiles saw him get more stressed and worried every day, he watched Derek become angrier and more anxious that two of his betas, two of his friends; two of the first three people he turned, weren't were he could see them.

"I'm coming with you tonight then," Stiles said, speaking for the first time since he'd been helped indoors by his friends.

"Absolutely not," Derek said automatically, shooting a glare at Stiles.

"Why not? I deserve to-"

"You deserve to be punched in the face Stiles, but I'm refraining from doing that for the moment seeing as I have more important things to deal with-"

"I have my dad's gun-"

"You have your dad's WHAT?-"

"Look man-"

"Don't fucking start Stiles. You can't track or fight or even hear us warn you about anything; you'd be too vulnerable and exposed to attackers out there and we can't do our jobs properly if we're fussing about keeping you safe too," he said in a low, growly voice. Stiles looked very angry and opened his mouth to protest further before Scott nudged him hard in the ribs. It was very rare that Stiles threw pissy fits; in fact, normally he'd just give people the silent treatment, but shit, this was just getting on his nerves now. Ignoring the lingering ache in his abdomen, he stood up fast, stomping out of the room, forcefully kicking Derek in the leg as he went past.

"Fucking hell," he heard Derek's hiss of pain and gasps from Scott and Isaac. Lydia broke into laughter but before he could be grabbed and shoved against a solid surface, he was upstairs and slamming the door behind him.

He had not been this angry in a long time. He was being irrational really. What Derek was saying made sense; Stiles was a liability and always ended up worse off than he had been all the other previous times he'd been attacked in the middle of an attempted rescue mission or torture situation. He really was dreading to think about where he'd end up next; in hospital probably, blind, crushed bones, maybe a couple more claw scars, a few hundred stitches. But Erica and Boyd were important to him too! No one seemed to get that. Just because he was a human, didn't mean he was useless, it didn't mean that he didn't deserve to at least try and participate in saving his friends.

He heard voices downstairs again, muffled by a few floors of newly pinned down carpet and he knew they had resumed their tactic planning for the tracking party they were going out as that night. Pahh! If Derek thought he was really going to stay put like a good little 'human pet' then he had another thing coming. He hadn't been lying when he said he had his father's gun; he'd just missed out the fact that he had been practising with it, working on his aim. Sheriff Stilinski had been out at work all day for four weeks whilst Stiles had been locked in his bedroom and since there had been so much going on, he simply assumed he'd misplaced the thing and applied for another one; the original tucked safely away in the bolted top drawer of Stiles' desk.

Of course, with all the stress and paperwork, Sheriff Stilinski had forgotten to lock his son's window which meant that once the Doctor had told Stiles his ribs were back in place and healing well, he had started climbing down the drainpipe with the gun in his back pocket. He'd started off small, shooting at the numerous cans of soda he'd been devouring every day during his 'recovery', but soon he got bored of it and had gone a little deeper into the forest, slowly hitting at moving squirrels and rabbits.

It wasn't exactly a professional qualification or anything, but it had made him feel a lot better about having a potentially life ruining/ending pistol in his hands when an equally life threatening and dangerous creature or human could be running at him. So, even though he'd not even had twenty minutes of the hour's break he was supposed to be taking, he pulled his sweat stained t-shirt over his head and opened the window. He adjusted the weights on the bar to suit his personal abilities and laid back on the bench, immediately beginning to feel a strain on his arms and still slightly sore shoulder blades. But Stiles was determined... plus it sort of meant he could tease Erica that he beat her time when they got her back. They_ would_ get her back. Stiles would make sure of it.

* * *

He spent three hours using the equipment before he finally decided he had worked off most of the aggression he'd felt earlier and put on his Stiles face, bouncing down the creaky stairs and into the large hallway, peaking his head through the arch of the living room. Scott and Isaac had gone, Jackson was in the kitchen wolfing down three joints of steak and Lydia was lounging across the sofa watching America's next top model.

"Where's teddy bear one and two?" Stiles frowned at her, taking his keys out of his pocket and throwing his t-shirt over the one shoulder. He squirmed a little when her eyes traced the lines of the three scars across his torso and shoulders before she shook herself mentally and smiled the bright Lydia smile, the one that contained just the right amount of patronisation mixed with genuine meaning and impressed admiration.

"Scott's gone home to get some equipment for tonight; Isaac went to tie up a few loose ends – Stiles, why did no one tell me that you got totally hot?" she exclaimed, distracted. He rolled his eyes when Jackson growled in the kitchen and she grinned even wider, purposefully licking her lips.

"If you get me in trouble with that asshole, I'll revoke your pedicure privileges for a week. Where'd daddy bear go?" he asked, eyes searching for Derek somewhere.

"Gone to get an update from Deaton on that locator spell; he says he has a witch in some weird town in Virginia called Mystic Falls doing it for him, it's a three hour drive away so Derek's taken him up there," she informed, still looking at his body like he was actually a piece of meat. He rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Bonnie is a star, I'd marry her if I wasn't so queer. Well I'm stoked, so I'm going home to collapse for sixteen hours," he huffed out, lying easily. Lydia didn't have wolf instincts or hearing so she couldn't sniff out his deception or hear a quiver in his heart beat; but she was freaking ridiculously intuitive so it had taken him a long time to develop the skills to get past her.

"Don't sleep for too long, I'm coming around later to watch a movie with you seeing as I don't have any urges to go running off in the middle of the forest at night with no special wolfie juju," she insisted. He narrowed his eyes at her but she shrugged, smirking innocently "what? Danny is busy which leaves you as my only available gay best friend. You're on Lydia entertaining duty"

"You know, there was a time where that last sentence would have excited me more than a naked Derek Hale, but it really doesn't have the same effect anymore," he remarked, earning himself a pillow to the head. He had to think about the new addition to his escape plan for a couple of seconds before he nodded, winking at her seriously before leaving.

It was okay, he'd just make her watch Star Wars again and she'd be asleep within half an hour and he could climb out the window, drive the Jeep into the woods and start on his own little Erica and Boyd tracking mission. Plus he had an appointment with Allison first; she was incredibly guilty since Gerard had beat him into unconsciousness and tried to kill all his friends, so he was calling her up on a favour. He wanted wolfsbane bullets.

* * *

"Oh my god I can't believe I'm letting you make me watch this again," she groaned, settling herself against his chest as he flicked the play button and the opening credits for Star Wars: A New Hope started elevating up the screen.

"It's payback for all those times you made Jackson watch The Notebook," he replied with a small smile, nerves setting in his stomach now. He knew his plan was stupid and reckless and that he'd probably end up hurt, if not by this alpha gang, by Derek ripping his head off; but he had to do it, he refused to sit back and wait whilst there was a possibility two of his best friends could be found.

"I still make him watch that," she chuckled against him and he couldn't help grinning.

"I make my dad watch it every other weekend," he whispered as the movie started and she nodded, blankly watching the explosions on the TV.

"You don't play to the stereotype at all, do you Stiles," she whispered back and he pouted down at her before turning his half-assed attention to what was going on with Luke Skywalker and waited for her to inevitably fall asleep. Ten minutes later and Lydia had gone limp. He looked down and smiled at her closed eyes. Even in her sleep her face was animated and stunning. He sighed, missing the crush he used to have on her. It took up a lot of his time and he really had loved her a lot. Now she was one of his very best friends; he just loved her in a different way now, probably even more than before.

He slowly untangled himself from her, making sure not to jolt her too much as he stood up. He pulled his grey blazer on over his purple t-shirt and took his dad's gun from his top drawer, tucking it securely into his belt and quietly opening the window. He closed it as best he could to keep Lydia warm whilst he was gone, and shimmied down the drainpipe. He landed on his feet on the floor, jumping athletically over the fence and out into the driveway.

By the time he was half way down the highway, he was panicking a little. Mostly because he knew full well the pack would have started tracking by now and he didn't know where any of them were or whether they were okay.

The sun was gone from the pitch black sky and the cold was creeping into the town and through the forest trees, a big contrast to the sweltering heat of the daytime that had made the extensive exercise ten times more painful to Stiles than it really needed to be. His hands were strumming madly on the steering wheel as some Indie band played on the radio. Eventually he got fed up of listening to it and turned it off, pulling up at the side of the road.

He went in his glove compartment which now contained several different ingredients and herbs given to him by Deaton. He'd been studying, in his month off, what each one could do, how they could be used together and what they meant. He now carried around a repertoire of herbs and concoctions that could be actually potentially quite dangerous in the wrong hands. Soon, Deaton would allow him to start studying magic and he would be able to tame the random sparks that flew from his fingers at really strange time. But tonight he wanted to make sure he'd at least attempted to keep himself mildly unharmed. He sprinkled Ague Root in a circle around his car, drawing in a deep breath and concentrating, smiling when he felt the power stick the powder to the ground. His Jeep was protected.

He then swallowed a rather yucky tablet of wolfsbane that would be harmless to him, but make his blood poisonous to any werewolf that bit him. Plus, when it was in his blood stream, it contained properties that rejected werewolf venom so even if he was bitten, it wouldn't change him in the slightest. He tucked a sachet of drawing powder, containing a rather smelly crust of dried dragons blood, in every pocket he had. It meant that if, by chance, he was going to run into a witch, he would be protected from hexes and that all evil spells would be reversed and backfire.

It wasn't the best type of shield from harm, but at least it was something. Finally, he closed the glove compartment and door, locked his car and stepped out of the circle, pulling the firearm from his belt and sprinting off out into the forest.

He slowed as he got in deeper, stepping carefully, breathing deep and as silently as possible. He closed his eyes when his hands started shaking again and drew in a breath of cold air, forcing himself to use the fear and anticipation as a focus, a motivator, something to keep him extra alert. He wondered if staying with werewolves for a prolonged amount of time could induce effects of contagious heightened senses because he most definitely felt as though he could hear pretty much everything in the forest.

After at least twenty minutes of straining to see ahead of him, Stiles span on his heal, pointing the gun straight ahead of him, glaring along the eyeline of it, looking around everything he could shape out for a sign of the movement he'd heard.

He heard it behind him and whipped around again, hands gripping the gun tight and steady, aimed sharply and waiting for someone to dare him to shoot, waiting for someone to just try and hurt him.

He wondered when he had gotten so angry with things, when he had become so resentful and pissed at every person he knew for letting him get hurt by Gerard fucking Argent. But anger didn't get rid of love and affection, so he was still stuck like this after everything, working to save the people he loved and who he knew cared about him in return, even if they had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

He heard the rush of wind again and started to get impatient.

"Hey you little fucker, don't be shy; I'm nice... sorta," he shouted, knowing one of the pack would hear him and change their course instantly so if he did need someone as a backup – a very likely occurrence – they would not be far behind him. There was another rush of wind and suddenly, right in the line of the gun stood a man with dark hair and a lip piercing. He was tall but thin with slitted eyes and tanned skin. He wore the mandatory leather jacket for a werewolf – freaking hell was that a uniform or something – and dark navy blue skinny jeans.

What really made Stiles' heart jump through his throat though, was the way that Erica was sobbing in the guy's arms. She was being forcefully held up by her throat and a revolting, tattooed arm was wrapped around around her waist. She was covered in mud and sweat stains. She was bone thin, her hair dirty, tear tracks tracing lines down her cheeks, mascara smudged around her eyes. In her left leg, a broken arrow stuck out in a wound that hadn't healed properly and was still bleeding very heavily. God it physically hurt him to see her like this, to look into her terrified eyes that were normally so sure and confident.

"Stiles no!" she screamed, her voice cracking and breaking as she struggled against the hold on her even now after possible months of this treatment "run! Leave," she choked. Jesus, if Erica Reyes was anything, she was a fighter.

"Shh," he breathed, his own eyes tearing up as his jaw tightened and he felt an incredible, un-stiles-like rage race through his body "it's okay Erica, we're going to get you out of here," he choked, forcing a small smile on his lips before he looked over at the guy's sadistic, grinning face and swallowed hard when his eyes flashed red, his fangs bared themselves and his claws grew out grimy, long and pointed.

"C'mon man, what's any of this achieving?" He pleaded "if you just give me my friend now, you can leave with the rest of your alphas and I'll call Derek off the hunt, just-" his voice shook more with empathy and desperation that from fear "just let her go," Stiles said, hands steadier than they'd ever been, eyes more fixed on anything than ever before. Silently, he moved his aim millimetres to the left, gulping down a huge lump in his throat.

Footsteps surrounded him and people pulling their runs to a halt sounded from all sides. Growls joined in a circle, mingling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott restraining a seemingly rescued Boyd who was half-conscious, but still snapping and gnarling at the guy holding Erica. Alphas were there too, but they all seemed to be covered in their own blood, all panting and coughing out, a couple of them howling occasionally.

And Stiles was stood still, gun pointed in a position he knew full well would shoot a wolfsbane bullet straight into the alpha's skull.

"I said. Let. Her. Go," Stiles was losing his rag now, getting angrier by the second; he was pretty sure that if he was a werewolf, he'd have shifted by now and would be struggling to hold the gun with large claws.

"What's in it for me? Do I get territory?" the alpha asked in a deep, foreign accent that he couldn't quite place; Korean or maybe faint Chinese "do I get your alpha's head on a platter?"

That made Stiles feel sick then, because the image formed in his mind; Derek's had detached from his body covered in blood being offered up by the head alpha to the rest of his pack. Stiles couldn't even contemplate that thought, not whilst he was trying to be strong, whilst he was going against everything his logic was telling him.

"How about you just hand my friend over dude, before I put a bullet through your stupid empty skull," Stiles snapped, eyes narrowed now, seriously 100% considering pulling the trigger and getting on with it. But he didn't kill, not if he could help it; it was a pack rule. If you could avoid taking a life, then you fucking avoided it.

"Territory?" the guy repeated and Stiles scoffed, a vein in his temple pulsing.

"Stiles. No. Speak. Caveman," he retorted, aware that Erica was getting in even more of a state now, losing even more blood, choking on the hold around her neck and whimpering, almost whining like a puppy being kicked around.

"Stiles put the fucking gun down and get over here now," Derek's deep, gravelly, warning voice vibrated through the circle but he ignored it as usual and gripped the gun harder, bracing himself for one final attempt and negotiation.

"You see, that's where you're wrong asshole," Stiles said, voice harder, firmer than he had ever thought possible "because I'm pretty sure that if Derek was my alpha, I wouldn't be able to ignore him like this. And you're even more wrong if you think I won't pull this trigger"

"I'm an alpha, little boy. Bullets won't kill me," he spat, still grinning manically. Stiles could see Isaac, Jackson and Derek prowling sneakily around the circle, taking advantage of the distraction by ripping throats out then hiding. The betas did what they could, and Derek finished them off. That was another pack rule. No one killed an alpha apart from Derek. Around them, a fight was breaking out, but within moments, it was just Derek's pack left waiting for an outcome.

"Let's fucking see about that, shall we?" Stiles said, finally deciding on what to do.

He swallowed again before his finger slammed down on the trigger and in a split second, the silver shiny bullet had glinted in the moonlight before in-bedding itself in the alpha's head. Stiles lurched forward as the guy dropped to the ground screeching in pain. He caught Erica and held her in tight, unable to stop himself from crying a little as she sobbed into his shoulder, mumbling half-sentences about batman and moons and arrows.

That's when he remembered her leg and quickly passed her over to Derek who let out a visible sigh of intense relief at her touch, burying her in his lap.

"What can you do for her?" Derek was tense, terrified, furious, and Stiles knew what that felt like, and he was counting on him to save his beta, to make her better so that all of this hadn't been in vein.

Stiles stowed his gun and pulled the dagger from his blazer pocket, swiping open her jeans with the blade and yanking the remnants of the arrow from her mid-thigh. Blood continued to flow from it, and even with shaking fingers and hot tears rolling down his cheeks, he sliced off a piece of fabric from the torn denim and tied it tightly around the injury. He didn't know why it wasn't healing. But then, he supposed strength was important for healing and she hardly had any of it.

"I can't work out here dude, its too dangerous and nothing will work if she isn't warm enough," he stated, looking Derek straight in the eyes.

"Isaac, Scott, get Boyd out of here. Jackson, you're with me and Stiles in the Jeep," Derek coughed, lifting Erica easily, letting her nuzzle his collar bone, scenting him all over again, cocooning herself in his body heat.

"Jackson, keep your eyes peeled, Stiles take your gun and dagger back out and be ready. There are a lot more of them that are out there and we just wiped out half their pack; they're going to be pissed," Derek said in a quiet voice.

"Derek-"

"Save it Stiles, I'll rip your throat out when we get home," he snapped, ignoring Erica's tiny feeble nudge that said 'don't be too hard on my batman'.

They jogged slowly back up through the forest to the main road where the Jeep was.

There was a dead silence all the way home. Jackson sat in the front, glancing at Stiles' stony face occasionally whilst Derek hushed his beta soothingly in the back seat, stroking her hair and taking away her pain every time she started crying heavier.

"Derek man, you know you're not supposed to do that too much, it can kill you," Stiles reminded in a tired voice when they were getting closer to the Hale house, watching him in the wing mirror. Jackson was answering the phone to a very pissy Lydia.

"It's necessary," he said, voice softer, less biting. It didn't comfort Stiles one bit, it just meant that he wasn't strong enough to be angry; he would be experiencing the full wrath of Alpha Derek Hale in the morning. Of course, once Stiles knew for sure that Erica would be okay; he would be retreating back to his bedroom at home to ignore his problems and sleep for three days. But then, he didn't know what stupid things he could do when he was high on adrenaline and relief; he might actually consider carrying on with his new exercise routine in the morning. Now that, _that_ would be stupid.

Derek was only half awake from all the wolf-juju-pain-taking when Stiles pulled up in the drive and opened the back door, so Jackson took Erica surprisingly gentle in his arms and Stiles grabbed one of Derek's arms, throwing it over his shoulders and securely holding his waist, taking his crushing weight and helping him into the house.

"Scott man, give me a hand with your daddy bear," Stiles called quietly as they got into the hallway and immediately he was assisted in taking Derek upstairs. Surprisingly the guy wasn't protesting. Scott left the room and just as Stiles moved to go downstairs and be with Erica, Derek grabbed his wrist weakly and looked up at him through hooded eyes.

"The next time you do something like that I will seriously kill you," he coughed, wincing at the energy it took.

"Sure thing sourwolf, sure thing," Stiles smiled, patting his hand before shrugging it off and hobbling down to the bottom floor, going straight to a very, very pale Erica who was laid out on the sofa. Apparently Lydia had arrived at some point during the journey home and was now on one side of the furniture cradling Erica's head in her lap, slowly stroking through her hair.

"Wow girl, you really need a shower and some vanilla shampoo," Lydia grimaced, carrying on with her ministrations nonetheless. For someone who was never a particularly big fan of either Erica or Boyd, she'd gotten to the house pretty fast and was looking surprisingly worried for the two weak and injured teen wolves.

"Hey catwoman," Stiles uttered, kneeling down in front of the sofa and pressing a quick kiss to Erica's forehead, nodding at Jackson who was already getting to work on relocating Boyd's shoulder into place, and Scott who was dabbing blood off the guy's face from where the cuts had healed over completely.

"Is she healing okay?" Isaac asked with a very scared level of concern in his voice. Erica took Isaac's hand tight in comfort, but by the looks of it, it just made him even more angry and sad.

"She seems to be healing alright. That arrow's been in there for a long time though, at least four days bleeding on and off. I have some stuff in my Jeep that will speed up the healing and strengthen her white blood cells so her wolfie powers will be able to fight off infections quicker. Scott dude, can you come with me, I need you to run the perimeter with some protection herbs; we're not strong enough to hold an attack right now," Stiles said firmly, cupping Erica's face momentarily before gesturing for his friend to follow him outside.

"Okay, run this clockwise, then go anti-clockwise with this one; it works the same as mountain ash so you have to do the whole 'I do believe in fairies' dance. Be careful, take this," Stiles instructed, handing him the dagger he kept with him at all times. It was engraved with symbols specifically designed to target the core of a werewolf's supernatural abilities; spelled with a hex programmed to release a rush of chemical into the blood stream that attacked the wolf DNA when gashed through skin. Deaton had made it for Stiles straight after they had heard about the alpha pack and told him never to hesitate when using it in defence.

The second Scott had started running, Stiles had gone into the boot of the Jeep. He pulled out his kit he had mentally labelled 'important' and pulled out a blood bag with Erica's blood type, the connection tube and needle; and some Vervain. It was poisonous to vampires, but seemed to have a positive effect on werewolves when inhaled.

With the equipment he needed, he sprinted back to the house and got to work hooking up Erica with the medicines she needed before giving her a mild sedative which would allow it all to do its work whilst she slept. After that, they all sat back and waited. None of them, of course, were really sure what they were waiting for, but they were sitting huddled together in the armchairs and sofas waiting nonetheless. Within half an hour, Boyd had made his excuses and gone up to bed. At three in the morning, Scott ordered five large peperoni pizzas and three two litre bottles of cola, but Stiles didn't eat anything.

He wasn't hungry and couldn't work up an appetite with all the blood on his jeans and t-shirt. He couldn't be bothered to climb upstairs for a change of clothes or a shower either. He just sat there not talking, excluding himself from the slowly lightening atmosphere whilst Erica slept on. She looked quite peaceful even underneath all the dirt and blood, basking in the subconscious safety of being reunited with her pack.

At five in the morning just as the sun began creeping up, Stiles muttered a string of sentences and went to change into some running gear, grabbing himself a water bottle, arming himself with his dagger and gun, and running for miles until he couldn't breathe. He was actually fairly certain that he was on the verge of a panic attack. At which point he stopped himself, sat panting against a tree for a couple of minutes, and then hobbled back to the house, not sure why tears were dripping down his cheekbones all over again. It was half past seven in the morning when he got back and the only person left awake and in the living room was Lydia. When Stiles walked in, he winked at her and gestured for her to go join Jackson in bed and she smiled, hugging him briefly on the way out.

"No one's going to say this to you because they're all angry that you went against what they told you to do, and got yourself involved again – and believe me, I'm going to hit you when I get my energy back – but thank you Stiles. Once again, you ignored everyone else and put yourself in danger to help save your friends; thanks," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek again and retiring to sleep. As if on cue, Erica stirred and blinked herself awake, an automatic smile breaking out of her face. It was beautiful, but small and broken, and it hurt him.

"Stiles," she croaked, attempting to sit up. He shook his head at her though and she lay back slightly again. He knelt in front of her, pushing some hair back from her face.

"Barbie wolf makes her miraculous return to consciousness. How ya'doin?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and taking her in, remembering her face. It had only been a month, but it was enough time for him to realise how important both she and Boyd were to him, enough time for him to decide that he would move mountains to get them back safe.

"Better! I actually – I feel really great. What did you give me?" she asked, looking confused as he helped her to sit up slowly and properly this time.

"Just a couple of regenerative concoctions; all for medicinal purposes of course," he smirked and she chuckled, raising her eyebrows.

"Did you give me marijuana? I feel spacey and my head is spinning a little," she asked and he shook his head, smiling wide and cheeky.

"Nope, that would be the Ginko leaf; it increases blood circulation which set of a faster healing process," he informed, proud of himself for knowing his stuff. "You all healed now?" he frowned suddenly and she opened her mouth a little, shrugging and looking down at her thigh, tracing over the now flawless skin where there had previously been a bone deep hole.

"I will never get used to that you know; being free of disease, infection; sort of pure... but not. You know. Oh god I'm really not pure right now, this is disgusting, I smell like I've spent a month in a pig sty rolling around in shit," she urged, turning her nose up at herself.

He nodded, laughing and running a hand through his slightly longer hair.

"No buzz cut!" she exclaimed, pointing at his head. He rolled his tongue around his mouth and sighed.

"Can we talk about the style of my hair later? You're still not strong enough to walk properly and you need a shower, c'mon, I'll help you," he said, standing up and taking both her arms, pulling her up carefully so she didn't get too dizzy and hurl. He had enough of her bodily fluids over his clothes already for one night thank you very much.

"Can I have a bath actually? I sort of... miss being warm," she asked sheepishly and he nodded, taking some of her weight for her as they made their way up to the second floor.

She let go of him, feeling a little stronger and leaning against the sink whilst he turned the taps on.

"Actually, Stiles, would you mind getting Derek to do this? It's just that I want to talk to him, he needs to know some things about these alphas and I need to know about some things that we discussed before me and Boyd tried to leave," she said a little awkwardly. Stiles furrowed his brow but nodded, pecking her cheek and going down the hall to wake Derek.

"Hey, sourwolf, one of your pups are calling for their daddy," he said as loud as he could without waking everyone else. Derek snapped awake, nearly hitting Stiles as he lurched forward, looking around for the source of a commotion.

"Whoah dude, calm your tits; Erica wants you to help her bath, I think she wants to talk to you," he said, turning to leave.

"Stiles," Derek said and Stiles winced, squinting one eye and turning back, pursing his lips together.

"Yes Derek?" he asked as politely as possible.

"Go to bed," he said roughly, standing up from the bed. Stiles was so shocked that he hadn't received a broken nose and bruised shoulder blades from being slammed up against the wall, he actually had to be dragged from the room by the collar by a very impatient and cranky Derek.

"Also, keep that gun near you," he said when they were out in the hallway by the top of the stairs.

"I thought you were all protective boyfriend/not-boyfriend-except-sort-of-maybe-boyfr iend with the whole gun thing," Stiles frowned, resisting the urge to smirk at Derek's obvious discomfort at the boyfriend comment.

"Well now I'm telling you to keep it and make sure Allison gives you more wolfsbane bullets, now fuck off to sleep," he snapped again, slapping Stiles across the back of the head hard, making him whine.

"What was that for?"

"For being an idiot and because I refrained from killing you when you kicked me yesterday, and for not eating today and for going running at five o'clock in the morning when there is still a very pissed off, rabid alpha pack on the loose. Honestly Stiles, get lost before I actually rip your throat out and set you on fire," Derek said sarcastically, shoving him sideways down the hall to his designated bedroom before going to Erica in the bathroom.

Stiles huffed and rubbed the back of his head, considering the list of cons Derek had so willingly spoken of. Okay, so maybe Stiles had been stupid and reckless and was malnutrising himself slightly; but that was only because he gave a shit and didn't want to be pushed out all the time because no matter how many times they disagreed with him, they all implied that he was the weak human. The runt of the litter.

And he point blank refused to conform.


	3. Training paid off

Derek stopped dead in his tracks when he moved into the clearing after taking down his final Alpha.

Stiles was stood, back hunched ever so slightly, baseball bat rested loosely on the back of his neck, the wood dripping with blood. There was a deep gash over his left eyebrow and the one over his right cheekbone from a month back had opened up again, looking sore and angry. His mouth was pulled up to the left in a slight smile, eyes betraying his cool exterior as usual. His shirt was stained with blood slightly and the dagger hanging from his left hand was also glinting crimson and silver in the moonlight. Mud covered his worn down converse trainers, jeans a little threaded and sticking to his legs through sweat, his newly grown-out-slightly hair also a complete mess atop his head.

"Stiles, what the hell-"

"I guess my training sort of paid off in the end. Looks like you're going to have to run damage control man, there are at least three bodies back there and I think I took down two by the lake," Stiles' voice was strong, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. He appeared fine until Derek had barely a second to catch him before his knees wobbled and he collapsed.

"S'okay, just- just give me a second and I'll help you," Stiles said, shaking his head and pushing Derek back a little, but keeping a firm, steadying grip on his arm, breathing deeply.

"Stiles, you just killed five people, you're going to sit down and rest," Derek said curtly, trying to get his eyeline.

"Don't you dare fucking patronise me as the weak human, not now," he snapped, causing Derek to raise an angry eyebrow at him. There was a second of Stiles gathering himself before he breathed out "okay, I'm good," he nodded, wiping the baseball on the ground and sticking it in the back pocket of his skin tight jeans, stowing his dagger and bending over, hauling an 182 pound werewolf over the back of his shoulders and adjusting it for a second. Derek glared as Stiles gestured for him to do the same thing.

"What the fuck?" Derek snapped, refusing to move until he had an explanation.

"Look man, I've been working out okay, don't sweat it. C'mon, before someone sees and gets my dad down here," he said, becoming irritated.

Derek knew Stiles more than he liked to admit, and he could see that the boy was running on hormones, shock, and the overdose of Adderall he'd taken before they had left the house; once it all wore off, he would crash and panic. Stiles panicking was never that good; he could sometimes be more irrational than some of the betas.

"Stiles-"

"Derek just pick up a fucking body and move your ass," Stiles half-shouted, eyes wide, breath fast and laboured.

"We're going to be having words later you little shit," Derek hissed in resignation, grabbing two bodies and heaving them over either shoulder, trudging after Stiles.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"Scott's meeting us over in the ditches, he's with Isaac with the petrol and matches," he said shortly and Derek bit his tongue to stop himself from further berating the teen for completely disregarding anything he was saying and all concern for his own well-being.

* * *

Stiles was sat at the table in the kitchen of the Hale house, head hung forward, elbows supporting his arms up so his hands could roughly cradle his head. Occasionally he would stressfully grip at his own hair or run his fingers through it, but no one was speaking.

His dagger was out on the wood in front of him, cleaned and stunning in the light as ever. Stiles had a soft spot for it. Deaton had made it himself from scratch; brought all the materials, polished it down so it was a breathtaking silver that nearly always shined. The handle was engraved with circles and strange symbols Deaton was teaching him about, and when asked about what they all meant, Stiles always replied with a shrug and a half-assed "protection."

Erica was knelt in front of Boyd who was trying hard to keep his spine straight whilst she strapped his torso so it would heal faster. Jackson was drinking a silent glass of whiskey in the kitchen, eyes watching his girlfriend deeply as Derek wordlessly cleaned the cut on her eyebrow and wrapped her two broken fingers with a very tight, secure bandage. Isaac was laid out on the four seater sleeping soundlessly and deeply, sedated by a spell Stiles had cast before trudging out and collapsing at the kitchen table with Derek and Lydia. Scott was helping Allison fix a couple of her hunter weapons that were broken during the fighting and running, both sat cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table in the centre of the living room.

None of the lights were on despite the darkness outside; the house was lit solely by moonlight.

"Stiles, you should go to bed; you've done a lot tonight, you gotta be tired man," Boyd said quietly so as not to disturb the silence too much, waking Stiles from his thoughts that were forgotten the moment he looked up to see him stood in the doorway.

"I'm good. If anyone should sleep, it should be you guys, you were all injured a lot more than me and you're all falling asleep on your feet," he replied, not smiling or anything. In fact, he looked absolutely exhausted both emotionally and physically. His eyes were bloodshot, his posture sort of beaten. No one was fixing his afflictions because no one really knew how to approach him properly. No one knew how to really talk to each other at that moment.

Having such an active part in the killing of your own kind sort of did something to you; made you feel a sombreness that carried heavy and numbly in your gut.

But it was worse for Stiles. He was such a kind soul, meant for loving and healing; not killing and burning. He hadn't used magic during the fight and no one understood why. They were all waiting for him to start slamming people against trees and knocking people out with his powers. But now they were all safer and had room to think; Boyd got it.

Stiles saw his newly discovered magic as a gift, a part of himself, something from the very core of his being, something that truly completed him. Magic was important to Stiles because it meant he could protect his friends, shield them from harm, it meant he could heal people, ease their minds, save their lives. He could even use it to make people happier. But he never wanted to use it for something as barbaric as killing, even if the things you were killing were evil or out to do nothing but hurt and destroy others.

That was why he'd asked Derek to train him physically. Boyd understood now. Stiles wanted to remember that if he didn't have his magic, he would only be human. Although, that was never a bad thing, and Stiles loved it; the boy also liked to feel in control. If there was one thing Stiles Stilinski hated, it was being powerless.

That was how he had been able to fight the werewolves; alphas, half an alpha pack actually. Or at least what was left of them after the incident with the first part of the pack. And Stiles had eliminated a lot of them. So if the boy looked tired and beaten, it was understandable. He hadn't asked for this, he'd never wanted to get caught up in it all. Yet it was impossible for him to leave now, to abandon his friends when they were in danger.

Stiles was allowed to feel sad and pissed at the world, even if it was just for a few hours before he put his pretences up again.

"You should heal yourself or something," Boyd sighed, furrowing his brow at him.

"I'm fine, it's just a couple of bruises," he brushed it off.

"He's right Stiles, you broke at least two ribs fighting that last alpha," Derek said curtly, not looking at him as he finished up Lydia's hand and grumbled when she pressed a peck of gratitude to his stubble.

Stiles huffed in frustration but sat back in the chair, wincing and hissing a little in pain. He lifted his baseball shirt up, pressing his hand to where the bruising was appearing on his diaphragm, whispering an incantation and coughing a little in an attempt to hide his discomfort when the bones fixed themselves in his ribcage.

"Dude, I don't get why you don't just heal Lydia with your juju," Scott called from the living room, the atmosphere picking up a little now there wasn't the heavy weight of silence on them.

"Because he's exhausted and shouldn't have even healed himself, his physical strength is low, he's not supposed to be performing magic when he's too tired," Erica answered in a patronising voice, glaring at Scott who pouted at her short tone with him.

"Stiles, bed, now," Derek snapped again, still not looking at him. Stiles opened his mouth to protest but was shut up swiftly when Derek near enough slammed his hand down on the table.

"Fine, I'm going to bed, christ man, chill yourself will you?" Stiles hissed, eyes narrowed as he got up from the table and disappeared into the hallway, stomping upstairs and closing Derek's bedroom door behind him.

"What are we going to do about him?" Erica sighed, moving into the kitchen and standing closely next to Derek, pulling his arm around her waist and grabbing Jackson's hand, making him move so she would have something on a higher level to cuddle into. Jackson huffed and looked angry, but allowed her to rest herself against Derek nonetheless. He really would never get used to this whole 'pack closeness' thing.

"You're just going to need to be there when he panics in the morning. You're his friends, so be there for him; that's what friends do, right?"

* * *

"Stiles. Stiles. STILES WAKE UP!" Derek's voice blasted through his eardrums and Stiles flailed awake, sitting up fast and panting in surprise, realising what had happened and glaring evilly at the alpha, holding his hand to his heart as he attempted to get his breath back.

"What the hell man? Dick move!" Stiles exclaimed, squinting through his eyelashes and rubbing his head as he struggled to see properly through blurry sleep vision.

"Whatever, your Dad keeps calling me asking me where you are so I told him you'd be staying here all weekend, okay?" Derek said stoically, chucking a baggy black T-shirt at him and leaving the room.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, plonking his body back down on the bed and sighing, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. It was difficult to assess his own mental state this morning. His chest hurt for some reason and his ribs felt really stiff. He wiggled his face around only to grimace in pain when the cut along the side of his cheekbone stung bitterly. He didn't want to think too much about the previous night; it was all too much to take in first thing in the morning and he at least wanted to make it through breakfast without having a panic attack.

Something was different though. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in his heart. Killing people changed a person, did something to their head. Stiles realised then that he was very grateful he wouldn't have to go back to his house until Monday; he didn't know if he could take even looking at his father to be honest.

"Stiles, breakfast!" Lydia called from the kitchen down the stairs and he groaned, rolling sideways off the bed, pushing up weakly on all fours, clicking his bones into place and standing up, stretching wide with a loud yawn. He pulled on the T-shirt Derek had thrown him and stumbled across the bedroom carpet, following the scent of pancakes and honey as his stomach gave a welcoming grumble.

"Lydia Martin, I love you," he said, squeezing her waist and pressing a rough kiss to her cheek when she passed him a plate of them, smiling widely at him and pulling her bed hair up into a ponytail, joining Stiles as he sat down at the table with the rest of the pack.

"So what's the plan for today then?" Isaac asked through a mouthful of toast and bagel, downing half a glass of juice before putting more food in his mouth.

"Lounge around, movies, comfort food. I don't have any energy to terrorise town guys today," she said distastefully, pulling her food apart absent-mindedly with her fingers before eating it.

"Stiles, you smell weird," Derek said suddenly and the whole table went silent.

"Uhh... I know. I haven't showered?" Stiles replied, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

"No, I mean something isn't right," he repeated, panic setting into the alpha's eyes as a possible explanation for his random observation appeared on his face.

"Stiles, why has your cut healed? It was there literally seconds ago when I was in the bedroom," Derek added, standing up slowly. Everyone was looking at Stiles now, who scoffed and shook his head, bringing a hand up to his face, splaying his fingers across where the gash was supposed to be. His mouth dropped open wide when he realised there was nothing there.

"Your ribs-"

Stiles lifted his top to find all bruising and grazes completely disappeared.

"Can Mage's heal automatically?" Scott asked quietly and it was as though everyone else was catching on to Derek's fear now, piecing together a suspicion, an assumption.

"No, the only thing I – Mage's don't just self-heal; they – they need to use spells, herbs, elixirs if they want to heal people, to heal themselves. This is – this isn't supposed to-" Stiles began catching on his words and syllables under the scrutiny and Derek was grabbing him by the collar, earning himself choice swear words and a yelp.

"Lift it up Stiles. Dammit, your top, lift your freaking top up," Derek demanded, taking the fabric himself and lifting it, turning him so that his spine was visible.

"SHIT!" Derek yelled, immediately dropping the top and crashing his claws over a desk surface, eyes red and glowing, teeth elongating. The entire pack flinched and someone whimpered.

"What the fuck dude?" Stiles retched out, looking completely bemused at the sudden outburst. Erica was staring at him with shocked, wide eyes, Scott was slowly moving forward, transfixed on his back; Lydia was clutching tightly at Jackson's knee, her mouth open as if she wanted to say something, tears glistening in them. Isaac was attempting to mutter soothing words at Derek who was now kicking things about in the living room and Boyd was gulping, putting his fork down and staring at the tablecloth, trying hard to process something. Allison... well, Allison looked completely and utterly stunned.

"Why is everyone looking at me like that?" Stiles actually stomped his foot before Scott took his shoulders tightly enough to hurt and looked him straight in the eyes seriously, top lip twitching, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, heart beat thrumming fast.

_WHAT?_ How the hell could Stiles hear that? _HE COULDN'T HEAR HEARTBEATS!_ He was magic, but he couldn't freaking listen in on BLOODY EFFING HEARTBEATS. He attempted to keep himself breathing slowly, pushing the sudden sickening thought from his head but failing, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, throat closing over slightly so he was almost choking on his breath.

"Stiles man, you gotta calm down okay, you can't freak out about this, it's just – it's just a small bite okay and the alpha wasn't properly transformed when it bit you, none of them could have been so we don't know for sure – Stiles?" Scott was cut off when Stiles gripped back at his arms, shaking his head, feeling the familiar tightening of his chest, the ice cold panic flooding through his nervous system, eyes watering and stinging as he gasped for air, swallowing.

"Stiles, breathe; its – man, you gotta breathe okay, c'mon okay, breathe," Scott's voice seemed far away, drowned out by a blurriness fogging things around him, a million different things happening at once, a million different noises and images and _god _it couldn't be true, it couldn't. He was Stiles, human. That's just – that was a huge, huge part of his identity; his humanity. For three years he had avoided it, resisted it, flipped it the finger and it was coming back to haunt him, to crush his lungs too apparently because he was most definitely having a panic attack.

"Stiles," another urgent, sharp and buzzed voice broke through the sea of thickness around him and someone else was grabbing him, warm strong hands clutching his face, trying to reach his attention, to reach rational thought.

"De – Der – I – _shit,_" he sobbed once, shaking his head again whilst he focused on slowing down his heart rate, on bringing himself back to reality.

"Alright," the voice said and Stiles' vision was still a little cloudy "you're fine; we've got you, you're good," a firm, soothing tone brought his fast breathing down slightly and he nodded, feeling the pressure on his throat lessening, the heat constricting and itching at his skin leaving slowly as he was helped to sit down.

"My gums – my gums hurt," Stiles managed to say after a couple of minutes, feeling very faint and weak. It was crazy, terrifying.

"That's normal," Erica said, moving to sit on the other side of Stiles whilst Derek went back to the living room to pace and curse "it's just your mouth changing to accommodate your – your – fangs. Also, your nails and hands will probably ache too; and your vision is going to go all cloudy and weird," she tried to explain things to him so he wouldn't end up getting freaked out even more, but it didn't help.

He was screwed.


	4. Ignoring the problem

A lot happens in this chapter so try to keep up, let me know what you think, I'm always happy to answer questions and take some constructive criticism, and enjoy :D

* * *

Three days. Three fucking days and all Stiles had done was run. He ran all day for at least twenty miles out into the forest and Beacon Hills, and back again until it wasn't physically possible for him to run any further. He'd turned First Aid Kit's new album all the way up to the top volume and got rid of all his excess energy and confusion and pain. Hey, okay, Stiles was a freaking Mage/werewolf/human, he was allowed to get all angsty and make everyone worried about him.

Besides, if it meant he got to spend time away from having the entire pack staring at him like a fucking broken toy all over again, then it was worth it.

But by the third day, he knew he was getting ridiculous. He was sneaking out in the morning to run when he was intercepted by a strong, creamy, feminine hand on his chest between his pectoral muscles, palm resting directly over his heart. He froze, eyes still fixed on the ground where they had been before he had been stopped.

"Stop being a coward Stiles and face up to your freaking problems. I didn't take you for someone who just runs away from all this," a hushed voice said and he lifted his head; just about able to make out Erica's face in the darkness of the early hours of the morning if he shifted slightly, his eyes would probably adjust perfectly and he would be able to see almost every line of her, but he wasn't shifting, he was denying it. He looked he head on, trying to search for some sort of feeling there that wasn't disappointment or pity. He hadn't looked at any of the pack directly since he was turned so he had just assumed that those were the two reactions to his transformation into a fucking werewolf.

Apparently not, because looking at Erica, all he saw was guilt and slight fear.

"You-" Stiles began, breathing a little shaky "you're all blaming yourselves for this, aren't you?" he said, brow knitted together, jaw clenching a little in surprise.

"You won't talk about it, you won't look at us, you won't even stay in the same room as us for more than a half hour; it's like you're blaming us or something. But..." she trailed off a little, hesitant to say something else.

"But what?" he asked, still frowning, both of them talking in whispers.

"But we can't smell or sense your emotions as easily as we used to be able to. You haven't said anything Stiles, have you even shifted at all? You haven't snapped or gotten angry about any of it. That's what's worrying us the most; you're normally so responsive and apart from your panic attack the other morning, you don't seem to be reacting at all," she explained further and with more confidence now he'd given her a sort of permission to talk.

He considered what she was saying. No, he hadn't particularly reacted much to it; mostly he had completely avoided it, avoided thinking about it, talking about it. And yes, he most certainly had avoided shifting.

"Excuse me if I'm still in shock Erica, but _I'M A FUCKING WEREWOLF,_" he hissed, face contracting to move with the emotion in his voice. It was the most expression he'd felt on his face in days.

"Oh boohoo; it's very sad that Stiles Stilinski has lost some of his precious humanity, lets all sit around for another fucking week weeping over it and pining over you shall we-" she was cut off when her eyes went wide. She took a step backward, pupils flashing yellow in fear.

"What?" he asked. He'd felt a small shot of anger; hot and electric just for a second whilst she was talking but it was gone before he could notice it properly.

"Your – your eyes," she breathed, hands over her mouth "they were red," she said, uncertainty back in her tone. He hated that; seeing her shy away from him. It was supposed to be the other way around, she was always slamming him up against lockers and walls when he was deliberately annoying her or teasing her. Now suddenly she was the one scared of him.

"No. God no, Erica, please don't do that; don't even – wait, red?" he paused, mid plea, processing what she had said again.

"Yeah... shit, Stiles, you killed the alphas you were fighting. You didn't realise it had bit you; and you killed it... you're..."

"He's an alpha as well," a voice came from the bottom of the staircase behind them and they both whipped around fast to see Derek standing in front of them in his bed t-shirt and loose pyjama trousers.

"B-But-"

"You're like... boss as well then. Does that mean-"

"It means whatever Stiles wants it to mean. The maximum alphas that work in a pack dynamic with betas are three, but more than one is rare and it hardly ever goes right," the voice said again and Stiles closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

This was exactly why he didn't want to talk about it. Acknowledging it made it real, and he wasn't ready for that. It was like back when Scott had first been bitten. Jackson had said it before; it was like someone had bought him a Porche when he should have just been started off with nice little Honda. STILES DROVE A FUCKING JEEP! How was he supposed to deal with a Porche? He was barely learning to drive the Honda (magic) and now they wanted him to drive a fucking Porche.

Oh god he was not in the right frame of mind for all of this.

"But I can't be an alpha! I'm not even responsible for _myself_ yet! There's no way I can deal with joint custody of a bunch of pups," Stiles exclaimed, his voice getting all dry and high pitched as he got more and more worked up.

"It's my fault, I know. You don't have to deal with anything you don't want to-"

"Oh shut up okay, I'm fed up of drilling it into your fucked up head that I walk into these situations by my own choice. I might have been human, but I'm not an invalid; I know what I'm getting myself into when I walk into these huge death traps that accompany my life. I'm going for a run," Stiles replied, cutting Derek off in his 'supportive' alpha act, shaking his head in annoyance, pushing away Erica's attempt at stopping him again. He regretted it immediately of course and had to force himself to stop properly, taking her hand solidly.

"Look, I'm tired, I'm fed up, I'm an alpha werewolf, I'm magic and I'm also part human. It's a lot to deal with and I'm only eighteen; just – god can we talk about this later okay? I promise we can talk about this later," he said, the pleading hint back. She looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds before nodding and slowly allowing herself to smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to the patch of skin just below his earlobe.

"Do I sound selfish if I say I'm glad this happened because I know you'll be safer, Batman?" she whispered and he couldn't help burying his face in her shoulder, nuzzling her jugular and for the first time really inhaling her scent through heightened sinuses. Leather, lipstick and vanilla shampoo with a... yes, a definite linger of Boyd.

"I knew you were sleeping with yogi bear," he grinned against her and she pulled away immediately, glaring murderously at him and punching his arm hard.

"OW!" he snapped and she crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Stiles, watch yourself," Derek's voice sounded just as he was about to close the door on himself and he paused, looking at him for a moment.

"You know, about a month ago, before all this alpha pack shit hit the fan, we were on our way to something different... man, you're so confusing; it's just – look will you please just stop blaming yourself? You're already a fucktonne of emotional baggage and guilt as it is, you don't need this on top of all that. I did this to myself, it was no one else's fault so I'm going to deal with it."

* * *

"It is perfectly possible for you to be both a Mage and a werewolf. The only situation where you would lose your magic is if you were to be turned into a vampire in which case, you'd lose your connection with nature. In fact Stiles, your magic may even become stronger; you're part wolf now, an animal that's very in touch with nature and the earth. You're something of an enigma Stiles, you may even be the only werewolf/Mage hybrid in history," Deaton said, sitting back in his spinning chair as Stiles blinked hard, bare back slumped forward as he let the information sink in.

He was a werewolf/Mage hybrid. And he hadn't even officially left school yet.

"Listen though, it's not going to completely cure your issues with mental heal-"

"Yeah, yeah I know; I'm still a chronic insomniac, still having panic attacks and all that jazz. That nifty little quirk hasn't fucked off yet," Stiles remarked, looking as nonchalant and unaffected as ever when listing the flaws and issues he'd been diagnosed with during his talks with Morrell.

"Actually; I've been looking for a herb to help with that. It took me a long time and I've had to bargain a lot of supplies with a witch coven over in England, but I have Black Cohosh for you. Leave it under your pillow at night and you should find your sleep improving," Deaton smiled, going in his top draw and pulling out a long-ish piece of green stemmed plant with white features to it. Stiles took it with a look of extreme gratitude and hopeful relief, returning the small smile with a nod.

"Dude, you're a life saver," he grinned, slipping it into one of the bags he kept on his possession and stowing it in a pocket inside the backpack he had taken to school with him.

Yes, he was back at school. Not that he wasn't constantly being hounded by his pack who seemed to be obsessed with scenting him. Apparently, the decision to become second alpha to the pack had already been made for him even though they had never actually discussed the situation properly like he had promised Erica. Now though, he had to learn to focus sounds and heartbeats and scratching of pens and locker doors being opened and slammed shut. He had to get a hold of his jumpiness at the slightest flash of something out the corner of his now supernaturally acute eyes. He was pretty sure that if he could even get a migraine, it would have developed into an aneurysm by the end of the first few days.

And the flashy eye thing, yep he really needed to get that under control too.

Stiles was not an angry person in general. He could panic; oh yes, he was an expert in doing that, depending on the severity of the situation, but he rarely got angry to the point where he was ready to beat the shit out of someone just to get rid of the buzzing under his skin.

"Yeah man, it's just the full moon. We'll probably have to lock you up with Erica and Boyd for your first few, just till you figure out what your anchor is," Scott said when Stiles was scratching at his hand and fidgeting irritably in his chair in bio.

"Great, why don't we just break out the fifty shades of grey board game and build ourselves a 'playroom'," Stiles huffed in a half-growl, glaring at Scott when he grabbed his shoulders to make him sit still.

"You're still running every morning, right?" Scott asked with a frown and Stiles nodded.

"Yeah, three hours at the ass crack of dawn and then a four hour work out in Derek's man cave after school. I don't know why I'm so fucking restless all the time. I'm even sleeping better after Deaton gave me the black cohosh"

"You'll be okay after your first time Stiles, it gets better afterwards," Scott smiled, releasing one shoulder, but squeezing the other softly, before lightly tapping Stiles' face and going back to tapping his pen on his empty notebook.

"You sound like my girly teen bff prepping me for sex," Stiles grinned, winking and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Scott rolled his eyes, pretending to urge as Isaac pursed his lips to stop himself from smirking beside them.

Stiles freaking hoped Scott was right though, he didn't know how much longer he could take this.

* * *

The days that followed the bite were possibly the worst in Derek's life. Well, okay, maybe not the worst; he'd been through some pretty horrible days in the past. But this was definitely up there with them. He sent most of the pups home to their families once they had all healed, but Stiles stayed behind. He'd expected the house to be filled with the kid's loud music and ramblings, to wake up in the morning and have to sit and listen to Stiles babbling about his paper on male circumcision over breakfast.

But this was much, much worse.

Because Stiles Stilinski was quiet.

Derek woke in the morning to silence through the entire house, so just on the first day, he lay back and listened to Stiles' heartbeat, the rhythm of his breathing, the shuffle as he turned over in his bed across the hall before he sneaked out for yet another early morning run. And he wondered why he wasn't angry with the teen for being so fucking reckless. Derek tried his hardest to figure out why he hadn't gotten furious and threatened to rip Stiles' throat out, why he wasn't more livid about the way Stiles had done something so stupid all over again.

Then of course, he remembered that Stiles was a werewolf now. An alpha werewolf. One that could probably match him for strength and agility, despite not having a lifetime of strategic fight training. Ripping Stiles' throat out would be much harder than it used to be, and Derek just – he couldn't understand it. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Yappy Stiles. Skinny Stiles. Annoying, loud, obnoxious, human Stiles. An alpha freaking werewolf.

It was giving him a headache.

It was only on the third day of explaining to Sheriff Stilinski why his son wasn't at home, that Derek really realised why he wasn't angry with Stiles. It was because Stiles was already angry enough with himself, he didn't need Derek adding to it. Not that he regretted it or anything, Stiles rarely regretted doing something selfless, because he didn't really have a choice in these situations, his personality kind of demanded it.

Derek pressed the red button on his mobile phone as he entered the house, dropping five bags of groceries in the kitchen and shrugging his jacket off, jogging silently up the creaky stairs – he had no idea why he didn't want Stiles to hear him, he just didn't. He was stopped in his tracks when he followed Stiles' sent to the bathroom and watched out of sight.

Stiles was slumped against the bath fully clothed, legs bent at the knees, head bowed. The strong smell of sweat and tears and stress hung in the room and it made Derek want to whine, his chest contracting painfully as Stiles' hands scraped through his hair over his own scalp, heart beat thudding near erratic, teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Werewolves didn't get sick, although Derek highly suspected Stiles had felt like he could have been; why else would the young, newly transformed second alpha be curled up by the toilet at midday, pale, sweaty and gasping for breath.

Five minutes later, Stiles spoke.

"You better've got some proper meat dude, I'm having the bitchiest of cravings; I feel like a hormonal teen girl," he huffed, swallowing heavily and wiping his tears stubbornly away from his eyes as though they'd offended him. Derek moved into the doorway as Stiles clambered to his feet and looked at him levelly, the perfect Stiles mask painted over his features. If it weren't for the blotchy redness around his brown eyes, Derek would even have said that everything was absolutely normal.

"There you go see, it's pretty easy to pretend your whole world isn't fucked up when you get the hang of it," Derek grumbled, tilting his head the side slightly and studying Stiles' face, the determination in his jawline, the set line of his mouth in the crooked, cheeky bright smile the dumbass frequented. With an expression like that, it wasn't a wonder that so many people found it so easy to love the persistent little bastard that had wormed his way into Derek's life on Scott's arm.

"Meat?" Stiles simply said, ignoring Derek's acknowledgement of his emotional state. Derek sighed, rolling his eyes sadly for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, I got two lots of lamb and some beef. You can have some later, I'm having my house invaded for dinner"

Stiles' eyes faltered for a moment before recognition flickered in them and they returned to normal.

"Right, it's pack night. Wonderful," he remarked sarcastically, smile gone as he brushed past Derek to run down the stairs and dig into the shopping. Derek decided to let him get on with it for a while, sending a text to Scott instead, disliking the pain Stiles' obvious despair was causing him as an alpha, and not being able to do anything about it.

'_Scott, Stiles is being sad when someone isn't watching him. Do something about it.'_

* * *

"See, it wasn't so bad," Scott said, stretching out to physically impossible lengths and growling as his muscles un-knotted themselves and clicked back into place. Stiles was still splayed across the ground, half-awake and covered in his own blood.

Derek had, for some unfathomable reason, refused to listen to his pack when they'd told him to chain Stiles up like he had for Erica and Boyd's first full moon, and had simply locked him up in the basement. It hadn't been pretty. He'd nearly gotten out, and it had taken the entire pack to restrain him and get him in shackles. When they were still pups themselves, keeping a lid on it with their own shifts; it had been somewhat of a mess.

Stiles stumbled to push his weight up, coughing out a breath of pain as he collapsed again, groaning as he began to register the metallic smell on his skin, and the soreness of the faint red marks still healing on his arms and legs where he had been held down.

"Why didn't you just attach me to the wall in the first place? It would have been so much less stressful," he croaked, accepting that he wasn't getting up any time soon and resting his head back, staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes.

"Trust me dude, it would have been just as messy and bloody; you'd probably have ended up breaking your wrists to get out of the cuffs anyway. And trust me, fixing broken bones, even when they heal in a couple of minutes, still hurts like a bitch," Scott scoffed, taking pity on Stiles and crawling across the floor from his crouching position against the wall.

He'd been there all night, watching Stiles gnarl and snap and howl and gnash his newly powerful jaw; but he hadn't left, he hadn't abandoned his best friend. He remembered how awful it was when he'd first been bitten; Stiles had ignored him despite the horrible things he had said, despite the wolf acting up and kissing Lydia and all that, Stiles had cuffed him to the radiator and stayed. Granted, Scott had ripped the radiator from the wall and gone AWOL, but it was the effort that counted.

Scott hauled Stiles up into a sitting position, one hand on his back, one hand clutching his tightly. Stiles muttered a string of very inventive curse words, but Scott sighed, letting his breath puff out his cheeks before he sat back on his knees, Stiles slumped against him. Scott wet his throat and closed his eyes, pressing his palm against the space between his best friend's pectoral muscles and focusing. Slowly, he felt Stiles relax, the tension irritating his body leaving him. Stiles let out a small rattly breath, shaking his head softly.

"I'm supposed to be your second alpha man, this is supposed to be the other way around"

"Oh c'mon, we both know it doesn't work like that at all. Plus, please don't say that out loud, it creeps me out," he shuddered as Stiles felt the majority of his aches seeping out through him via Scott's warm hand on his chest. It was true though. As second alpha or whatever he was, Stiles was responsible for the pack, therefore responsible for Scott. That had always been the case anyway, Stiles looked after Scott, made sure he got to school on time and didn't forget to eat his veggies. Not that Mama McCall didn't do all that of course, it was just that sometimes she wasn't there to, she worked late and at awkward times.

Now Stiles was really thinking about it though, seeing as he had nothing else to do until he could be bothered to get up and tell Scott to stop with the whole 'pain taking' thing, Scott had watched out for him his whole life as well. The bullying had never really been that big of a deal, Stiles was a likeable dude with flailing limbs and a bark to make up for his previous lack of bite; but when the bullying _had_ been an issue, Scott would stamp it down fast. No one messed with him whilst Scott was around, and once they had been issued an official McCall warning, no one touched him at all.

Scott always turned up at the house when Sheriff Stilinski was on a particularly time consuming case, Stiles had never had to call his best friend to tell him he needed someone, he'd never had to do the whole awkward 'I'm really fucking lonely' thing; Scott would just ring the doorbell and barge his way in and eat all his food. Scott was silly and adorable and he was a werewolf, and that didn't matter because he was Stiles' best friend, and they dealt with it.

But now Stiles was a werewolf too. Stiles was an alpha. He was a fucking alpha werewolf. He didn't know if he could deal with that, if he could even handle this pain every god damn full moon. So this was what it was like to have a period? He felt like he was PMSing, he was horny and scared and hungry and his bones were all creaky. Whoever the fuck said that full moons made wolves stronger, was freaking wrong. He made a point to apologise thoroughly to Erica and Lydia when he saw them later, for all the time of month jokes he had made over the years. He made a point to just go and apologise to girls everywhere.

"Alright, enough bro-ing out for this morning, help me up," Stiles swallowed, nudging Scott in the ribs and holding back a whine at the lack of familiar body contact. Fuck, his pack instincts were starting to kick in. He wanted to pull his beta back down and bury his face in his t-shirt because underneath the blood from all the brawling and struggling last night and Scott's sweat – fucking yuck – he smelt like pack, and home and warm and... YAY LYDIA WAS COOKING PANCAKES AGAIN! He was suddenly a lot more eager to be up on his feet again, and he was half-tempted to say fuck it to his throbbing joints, and just sprint uber fast up the basement stairs and eat everything he could find in the kitchen.

But he nearly lost his balance again as he tried to take a step forward, and Scott had to help him up the stairs. This wasn't fair, werewolves weren't supposed to hurt, they were supposed to heal and run around growling and wearing leather jackets. Which reminded Stiles, he needed to get himself one of those.

"Good morning sweetie," Lydia grinned widely as Scott dropped him rather ungracefully into his chair. Stiles had to repress a pining sound threatening to claw its way from his vocal cords when he saw Isaac wincing a little as he shifted to get more comfortable in his bar stool around the kitchen table. He smiled back at her weakly, dropping his eyes to the plate of honey covered pancakes in front of him, and the large cup of coffee beside it.

"How's the doggy hangover?" Erica flumped down next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stealing a slice of toast from Jackson's plate, earning herself a death glare. Stiles didn't know how they weren't all either staying away from him, or pummelling the crap out of him; he had been pretty damn scary last night, from the snippets he could remember. It had been horrible, like he hadn't had control of his body. He had been really, really, really angry and terrified. And this frightening need to get everyone away from him had been screaming at his head from the inside. He didn't know how the cubs dealt with this all the time. He was on edge, unsure of everything.

Plus he had only spoken to his dad like three times in the last couple of weeks. Sheriff Stilinski just thought that Scott was having trouble with Allison again or something.

"If I ever make a comment about your time of month again, feel free to break my arm or something," Stiles grumbled, tearing the first pancake in half and shovelling it in his mouth. Lydia nodded with a smirk and wrapped an arm around Jackson's shoulder, leaning into his touch. Erica let out a laugh and shook her hand, rolling her eyes.

"You're such a drama queen Stiles. You'll see pretty soon that something like that isn't too bad. You should have seen my first full moon," she shuddered, swallowing deeply and grimacing, going back to stealing food from people's plates. She had a habit of doing that.

"Why, what happened?" Stiles frowned, looking at Isaac who was wearing an expression of extreme distaste, Boyd shuffling awkwardly in his chair beside him.

"Erica had to have the headpiece on," Isaac explained, not making eye contact with her "and Boyd smashed up half the train wreck before he managed to hold him down"

"What about you?" Stiles wondered, popping more food in his mouth and giving Isaac his full attention.

"He was fine, he found an anchor straight away," a gravelly, sleepy voice came from the doorway and Stiles' eyes snapped up to meet Derek who was leant against the doorway in sweatpants and an old kahki t-shirt. He kind of looked adorable with his bed hair and half-lidded eyes and Stiles would have teased him if he could really be bothered.

"Well, not straight away," Isaac reminded him, fiddling with his fingernails.

"You pretty much did. You were awesome," Erica smiled at Isaac softly, reaching out a hand to stop his little nervous tick. Stiles thought it was incredibly cute that werewolves could still be ridiculously bashful and embarrassed and if he was watching the pack from the window as an outsider, he would totally have made a puking motion and tutted.

"Well this is all very sweet and touching and everything, but I'm pretty sure my dad is going to be pulling his hair out, so I'm going home today," Stiles announced, swallowing his last pancake and downing the rest of his coffee.

"Not like that you're not!" Derek snapped, pushing up and away from the door frame "you're covered in blood, you look like you just went ten rounds with _me_"

"I could kick your little werewolf butt"

"Stiles, you're a werewolf too"

"Whatever man, I could still beat the fuck out of you"

"Stiles!"

"Fine, showering. I'm going," he rolled his eyes, pushing out from the unit, ignoring the aches flaring up again, and slumping out of the room as Derek went to the fridge to find his own breakfast. Stiles really needed some time out.

* * *

"Hey dad!" Stiles chirped, attempting to run straight through the living room and lock himself in his bedroom. His dad soon halted him however, grabbing him by the shoulders and making him look directly at him.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded firmly, still not letting Stiles go. He bit his bottom lip guiltily and put his hands in the pockets of the jeans Scott had leant him to go home in, nudging one foot against the other.

"Uh... would you believe me if I told you that Scott got mono?"

"Stupid question Stiles. What do you think you're playing at? I haven't seen you properly in a fortnight!"

John 'Sheriff' Stilinski was brilliant at his job. He was empathetic, and he knew how to get people to shut up when he didn't need them to be talking at him. He also knew how to get people to confess everything he needed to know, which was why he was such a good cop. He was selfless and kind and surly and lonely and he loved his son more than anything that existed on the planet. He'd loved his wife too, he still did, but she was gone and he was married to his work. Not that he didn't make time for Stiles or anything, just that Stiles didn't put extra work on his father where he could help it. They had a unit, they were a team. They had to be really, for either of them to function properly. They had an honest father/son relationship and they looked after each other.

Which was why Stiles felt so fucking guilty when he told him that he'd been staying at Derek's because Isaac had man flu and no one else had been around enough to look after him. If there was one person Stiles hated lying to, it was his dad. But he couldn't drag him into it, it wasn't fair and he needed him to be safe.

"I don't buy it," John frowned suspiciously, and Stiles shrugged, not making eye contact.

"I didn't ask you to. But you wanted to know where I've been, and I've told you. Can I sleep now? I'm really tired," Stiles sighed, his eyes defeated and exhausted. What good was being a werewolf when you still got knackered out?

"Fine, but I've got my eye on you," John warned, dropping his hands from Stiles' shoulders and throwing his jacket around his shoulders, clipping his gun into his belt.

"And Stiles?" John's voice called after him as he began to climb the stairs "you are okay, aren't you?" he asked, all accusations vanishing from his tone as he took on a worried expression. Stiles froze for a moment, realising he didn't have an answer. He always had answers.

"Sure," he managed eventually, feeling the waves of concern radiating from his father as his heart skipped a small beat, breathing heavy "m'fine"

"Alright, well do some chores later, the house is a mess. Jim dropped your pay pack off this morning, its on the kitchen counter. I'll be back about 11:30 tonight"

"'Kay," Stiles called feebly in reply as he fell through his bedroom door and slumped against it, closing his eyes and letting his body slide down to the floor, hands scraping through his hair. He was so stressed, he could actually smell it on himself.

Eventually, once he had succeeded in narrowly avoiding another panic attack, he dragged himself over to his bed, pulled his clothes off, and curled up underneath the thick, warm covers, closing his itchy eyes and slowly drifting off to sleep.

When he woke four hours later, Derek was sat at the desk rifling through papers. The top draw was open and three of the guns he kept spare were just visible beneath the boxes of wolfsbane bullets Allison supplied him with before he had ended up becoming a freaking werewolf.

"Man, you have got to learn what boundaries are. Didn't they teach you this at school? You can't just break into people's houses!" Stiles sighed, sitting up and rubbing his forehead, blinking his eyes so his vision cleared itself out and everything became breathtakingly defined again. He didn't think he would ever get used to that.

"I didn't break in, the window was open," Derek replied without looking up from what he was reading. Stiles frowned, resting his spine against the headboard as he flexed out his fingers slightly, getting the blood running through them again.

"What are you reading? And that draw was triple locked, how did you get into it?" Stiles asked incredulously, watching his fellow alpha sieve through some different notes covered in Stiles' scribbly annotations before he got a hold of what he seemed to be looking for. He remained silent, apparently absorbed and concentrating on reading. Stiles rolled his eyes and slid out of bed, pulling his sweatpants up to his hips, not bothering with a t-shirt. Clothes were annoying him; he was buzzing with left over full moon energy and his skin was tingly and hypersensitive. He moved to stand behind Derek, reading over his shoulder. He felt a flicker of irritation from Derek as he put a hand down in front of him to steady himself, but disregarded it, focusing on what had him so interested.

"Wendigos?" Stiles' brow furrowed and he glanced sideways at Derek who was still skimming the writing over.

"Yes, Scott smelt something on his patrol earlier so I got him to describe it to me-"

"Oh man, Scott is terrible at identifying that stuff; he thinks I smell like freshly mown grass. Of course I smell like plants, I'm a mage, my main source of power comes from herbs," Stiles remarked, sitting back on the spare spinny chair.

"I managed to decipher rotting flesh from his babbled mix of bullshit and it reminded me of something that was creeping around everywhere a few years back and I wanted to be safe"

"So you decided to ransack my rather depressingly extensive collection of lore to see if you could confirm a few of your suspicions. Well, if you think it's a Wendigo, the universe hates us because these things are a bitch to kill. Algonquian cultures suggest suicide or acceptance of death rather than cannibalism if you're starving, they think its better than ending up like these little bastards," Stiles informed, shivering at the thought of it. He remembered looking it all up about a year previous and some of the drawings people had drawn of the creatures... well, they would be burned into his mind for a very long time.

"They're difficult to kill if you're human," Derek stated, finally turning to look at Stiles properly. He could have sworn he saw his eyes glance down over his bare chest for a split second before he considered Stiles' face.

"They're difficult to kill, whatever you are. They have incredible strength and speed, and they're wild," Stiles replied. Derek quirked one eyebrow in interest and nibbled on his lip slightly.

"Go on," he said, gesturing for him to keep talking.

"They're associated with the winter. Old tales say that they're humans that camp out in the woods during the winter, and have their food supplies cut off, so they resort to cannibalism. Except, over time, it changes them. They lose their minds until they're not human anymore. They're monsters..." Stiles trailed off, looking very concerned and weary.

"Stiles, there's something you're missing out," Derek prodded, looking his fellow alpha in the eye and holing his line of vision there as though he hoped he was sending some sort of telepathic message. Stiles sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"They die if they don't feed off humans. They stay in the woods forever, luring campers in, injuring them and... collecting them for hibernation," Stiles cringed out his last words and Derek could feel the flicker of fear radiating from him.

Derek didn't like this at all.

"I'll get onto Danny, ask him to hack into the police records, see if there's a pattern of missing person's cases in the last few weeks or something. I need to go into town later and get some food though, and it's my patrol tonight, right?" Stiles said, sitting forward and clapping his hands together like he always did when he was devising a plan of action. This, Derek thought, was why Stiles was better as an alpha than a beta. He was instinctively maternal and selfless, he would die for his pack, and had a ridiculously useful ability of coming up with plans on the spot, whether they were dangerous or not. If Stiles had been turned, and remained a beta, he would really have clashed with him and it would not work in the slightest as a pack dynamic. Stiles was indeed a natural leader.

"Are you up to doing your patrol? You seemed pretty hurt this morning," Derek frowned, watching Stiles' still slightly stiff movements as he jumped up from his chair.

"I'm good! Nothing a couple of hours sleep and some good grub wont solve. Don't worry; Deaton says its totally normal for this to be happening on-"

"On your first full moon. Right. Well, if you need me to take your patrol, just call," Derek spoke stoically, breaking eye contact again and finding the floor very interesting.

"Hey man?" Stiles said, watching Derek's face as he struggled to regain himself like the dumbass always did when he was being forced into conversation or social exuberance "we're gonna be okay, aren't we? I mean, we can make this whole two-alpha thing work, can't we?" he asked, pulling out a plane dark blue t-shirt and some slim fit jeans from his wardrobe ready to put on after the shower he was now really eager to get to.

There was a good twenty seconds before Derek stood up from the chair and moved to the window before looking back at Stiles, a great expression of conflict in his eyes and adorable dimples that lay beneath the stubble.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, still not looking at him.

"Dude, I've known you for two whole years of the ridiculous and painful, of course I freaking trust you, I sort of have to," Stiles scoffed, voice suddenly quiet and more hesitant. It didn't really sound much like him, and he couldn't really understand why.

Derek paused for a moment before nodding once "then it will work. I don't know how, but it will," he said finally, lifting up the latch, pushing the window upwards, and jumping out of it with one easy drop, landing on his feet.

"Business as usual then," Stiles huffed, flopping down to sit on the bed again, intending to try and calm himself again before he got in the shower.

* * *

Stiles' eyes snapped open and immediately his heart jumped violently in his chest, his stomach dropping as his acute stressors kicked in the noradrenaline flooding his body, flowing with the blood, his head pumping and throbbing along with a bitch of a headache.

He was strapped up in the design of a crucifix, arms tightly tensed in both directions. He was shirtless, ankles in shackles that branched off into chains attached to the bloodstained concrete stone.

He concentrated for a moment on his senses, closing his eyes softly and focusing his hearing on faraway sounds. Apart from the ruffle of trees somewhere about ten feet above him, there was nothing. So he closed in the distance, pulling it in slightly. There was a low, raspy breathing and a slight shuffling. To his far left there were about two other breaths that indicated that his fellow captors were asleep.

It was times like this that he forgot about his superstrength and smell. But the sent of rotting flesh and blood and maggots... it was obnoxious, stagnant, demanding to be noticed, and for images to be placed in the minds eye to match. Stiles felt acid bile rise in his throat, but he swallowed it, blinking away the wetness in his itchy, tired eyes. He was covered in sweat and his skin was dirty, as though he'd been dragged through several acres of mud and shrubbery and his throat was dry and scratchy.

He wet his lips with his tongue and winced a little from how chapped and split they were. They healed over a second later. Somewhere in the hell hole he'd woken up in, a leaky pipe dripped repeatedly in a steady rhythm, like an impatient, possessed clock, time ticking away at him as his thoughts came pushing back through his mind and he remembered what he was up against.

The Wendigo was not in the facility.

Stiles swallowed and braced himself before he doubled back on his wrists and wrapped his hands around the thick rope keeping him strung up securely. He took a deep breath and yanked forcefully on both sides. The material snapped like it had been made of a single line of thread, and Stiles landed hard on the ground on his knees, back hunched, face tensed in agony as he realised his thyroid bone was at an awkward angle. The weak feeling in his body was because the bone was sticking out, keeping the cut open. The skin around it was desperately trying to heal itself, and it was still bleeding... heavily. Stiles grimaced, tentatively putting his finger at the top of the bone and pushing really hard. He had to force his teeth down on each other to stop himself from screaming in pain. But in a moment, the skin had sealed itself together again and he felt the slow burning of the bone setting itself back in position, realigning and meeting with the rest of his leg. It would take at least an hour for the bone marrow to produce enough red blood cells to make him properly strong again, but for now he could at least walk.

He stumbled sluggishly to his feet, pretty sure that there was a silver bullet stuck in his ribs. They weren't particularly poisonous or anything, but they were to werewolves what wooden bullets were to vampires, and Stiles despised the sharp stinging and stabbing they created shooting through his nervous system whenever he had been hit with one. He'd have to get Derek to cut it out for him later.

But for now, there were others in here. People. Innocent people with no super healing powers or strength to save their own asses. And suddenly Stiles was smacked in the head with an instinct that filled his mind with a warm feeling, his nails growing, eyes flashing, power rushing through his entire body, his muscles growing more solid. Wolf. The wolf was there in his mind, growling softly, quietly at his subconscious and elongating his teeth.

Well that was the decision made then. He was saving the other two people that the heartbeats belonged to and he was getting the fuck out of dodge.

* * *

Stiles was carrying a 150 pound dude on his right shoulder, and taking most of the weight of the guy's daughter on the left side of his body because her leg was broken. He was sweating buckets and was working really, really hard to ignore the fact that agony was vibrating through the entirety of his diaphragm. The humans he was trying to save weren't heavy as such, they just put pressure on the way the bullet was positioned against his rib cage and his body was practically yelling at him to do something about it. He was his own last concern right now however, the people he was trying to save were normal, run of the mill father and daughter; he could smell the innocence running off them. The girl was terrified and it was not making him feel any better about the situation. HE WAS TRYING TO ESCAPE FROM THE LARE OF A SUPERHUMAN CANNIBAL FOR GOD SAKE.

He did not remember signing up for this.

"What's your name?" Stiles asked to distract himself. The girl swallowed, her grip on his waist tightening as she struggled to put less weight on her injury.

"Celie," she breathed, eyes droopy, tear and sweat stains mixing on her skin as her hair stuck to her forehead. She was tall for a girl her age, slightly overweight but not too noticeable, and pretty with sparkling blue eyes filled with sticky tears.

"I'm Stiles," he smiled reassuringly, eyes wide with adrenaline "we're gonna get you and your dad out of here, okay? Now, if that thing comes back, I'm going to have to put your dad down. What I need you to do then, is run-"

"But my dad-"

"I'll get him out okay, I promise. But if that thing does make a show of it, you have to run and you can't hesitate, okay?" he said clearly, his free hand pressing softly and comfortingly to the back of her head. He looked her directly in the eyes. She swallowed tightly and nodded, moving along, taking more of her own weight to help him out a little.

They walked for an hour before Stiles smelt it, the putrid waft of rotting skin and bone, the coppery, metallic breath of blood. Then a shuffling, and dull, thudding footsteps up ahead. His heart jumped in his chest but he quickly pulled the girl around the corner, pressing their backs against the filthy wall. He waited for a moment, but the footsteps didn't stop and the low, rattly breathing of the creature quickened. Stiles grimaced, drawing in a deep gulp of air, and settling the girl's father against the floor, back propped up against the concrete. For a moment, he tried to summon the place inside him that sourced the core of his magic, but then he realised the silver bullet rendered him powerless, spark wise anyway, and gave up when his magic sort of quivered for a moment, then flopped again.

He turned to Celie, taking her face in his hands and making her look at him. She was silently sobbing, completely and utterly terrified.

"Hey, c'mon, you're going to be okay, but I need you to run for me now, okay? I need you to go-"

"Dad-" she whimpered, shaking her head. He tightened his grip on her face, pressing a rough kiss between her brows.

"I'll get him out, I swear to you, he's going to be fine," Stiles knew he shouldn't be making that promise because there was no guarantee that he could keep it, but she needed to go and she couldn't carry her father with her.

There was a growl from in front of them and Stiles whipped around, flicking his fingers to extend his claws. He felt strength push through his jaw, his teeth getting longer, sharper. His knees bent slightly to brace himself, and the wolf became territorial, flowing through his mind, focusing him.

"Go," his voice was low and gravelly as he snapped it sideways at the girl just as the Wendigo lurched at him, soft, stinking flesh flying in his direction, distorted face angered and wide. Stiles slashed it, throwing it sideways. Celie took off at a limping sprint down the tunnel the way the Wendigo had come, not looking back once, just like he had told her not to. She was probably in a horrible amount of pain with the broken bone in her leg, but it didn't matter, she was going to be alive, and that was all he cared about.

* * *

Two hours later, he stumbled from the cave, eyelids drooping, pupils rolling. He just managed to drop down Celie's father before he crumbled to his knees, blood tumbling from his lips as he coughed. His ribs were in agony, his body working to fight off the growing infection around the bullet hole that just wasn't healing. The Wendigo was dead, Stiles had slashed it mostly in half around the middle with his claws; not before the damn thing had repeatedly stabbed him in the gut with a blunt, random stake of course. Because he was still weak, it wasn't fixing fast enough, the blood was soaking his bare chest, dirt covering his face, jeans torn and muddy. He could taste it on his tongue, and he almost laughed at how only days ago he had been thinking about leather jackets and knotting – totally _not_ a thing by the way, he had checked thoroughly.

His vision was blurring, the exhaustion slowing his motor responses even through the whole heightened senses thing. He wondered briefly then, whether he could bleed out on the floor in the middle of a forest with his claws still extended. He couldn't gather the focus to push back the wolf, but he didn't have the strength to fully transform either. It sucked.

Everything fucking sucked right now. There was a guy dying on the floor beside him that would leave Celie without her father and the memories of a flesh eating superhuman that had caused it all; not to mention the werewolf that had failed miserably to save her dad, despite point blank promising that he would be able to.

Stiles was just thinking about how he could really, really do with some hagen dazz ice cream whilst his lungs were filling with liquid - and some strong whiskey - when there was a flash of light beside him, and familiar scent filled his nostrils, automatically calming the storm in his brain. A voice was cursing him and calloused, warm, strong hands were desperately feeling for a pulse, pulling him in close, becoming more frantic because of all the blood.

He was lifted then, in a bridal carry, his body limp and going numb... although that bitch of an ache across his ribs didn't fucking go away of course; and he half-mumbled about someone attending to the other guy on the floor, the human. He heard shuffling beside him, and his sinuses told him it was Scott. Erica and Isaac were covering them whilst Jackson and Boyd sprinted through the cave tunnels to check that the Wendigo was completely gone. It had to be torched in order to be killed properly, but Derek didn't stick around to listen to his betas disposing of the remains, and immediately set off as fast as he could without jolting Stiles too much.

Stiles decided that being a werewolf was pointless if you couldn't heal fast _all _the time. Seriously? All the stress, the senses, the speed, the hormones, the bloodlust every full moon, the lying to his dad; and he didn't even get the main benefit of being superhuman. Dammit. He would have actually preferred to be a vampire; that seemed a little more classy. Although, he didn't think he could deal with the constant need to suck the life out of every human in his company. Oh yes, he had heard the rumours about Stefan Salvatore; Stiles' workings with Bonnie Bennet had confirmed them. Actually, whilst he was thinking about it, he needed to send her some flowers for locating Erica and Boyd when the alphas had kidnapped them, her spellwork had been crucial. Also she was really awesome and badass and had once introduced him to Damon who was crazy hot, if completely and utterly terrifying.

"Shut up," Derek's voice snapped and Stiles realised that he'd said it all aloud.

He was going to sleep for days after this, and if anyone dared to disturb him, he'd go all out alpha and castrate them violently.

* * *

"So help me one of these days I will literally kill the kid," Stiles woke slowly and silently to the sound of Derek raging out somewhere. His head really, really hurt, his mouth was dry, his muscles didn't like him very much and he had in no way whatsoever slept enough. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't want to become aware of his surroundings dammit, couldn't the new teen wolf catch a freaking break from time to time? Stiles thought very much that he bloody deserved it. He deserved to eat lots and lots of meat from KFC, he deserved to sleep for three days, he deserved to take loads of showers and screw around on the internet and masturbate and maybe bug Derek some more about finally talking about that thing they had between them four months back. Stiles deserved a lot of things, and never seemed to get them. But, whatever, right? Because there were people a lot worse off than him. Yup. Definitely. Of course. He was being irrational and dramatic.

No, that was bullshit.

He really just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his self-pity and to lick his wounds.

"Stiles, we know you're awake," Derek's voice cut through the barrier he had created for himself, and Stiles groaned loudly, simpering pathetically and blinking himself awake properly to make puppy eyes at his fellow alpha because Stiles kinda maybe just a little bit freaking adored the fact that _his, _and only his puppy eyes worked on Derek Hale.

"Don't even think about it. Sit up, I need to get this bullet out of your fucking ribcage"

"Language man, I'm in pain here"

"Shut up and sit up before I lose my patience"

"Excuse me, aren't we meant to be a team, which means you don't give me order-"

"Stiles if you don't sit up I'm going to call your father and tell him that you've been shot-"

"I'm sitting up! Jeez! You're crabby this afternoon, was it something I did?" Stiles teased, swallowing to wet his throat and putting his arms on the mattress either side of him, slowly easing himself up into a sitting position, wincing and panting. Derek growled. Stiles shut up.

He moved his legs over the bed to rest his feet down on the varnished oak floorboards and Derek knelt in front of him between his legs so he was level with his torso. Stiles held back a smirk when he caught a whiff of something Derek was not supposed to be smelling of considering the current situation. Good to know that their little 'thing' still had a stimulus.

"You're angry," Stiles said, brow creasing more seriously as he watched Derek's claws elongate and dig in through the bullet hole in his ribs. Stiles gritted his teeth hard, gripping the sheets on either side of him. If he opened his mouth, he would scream out in pain, and the cubs didn't need to hear that.

"I'm furious," Derek said in a low voice, ridiculously perfect jawline tense, eyes focused on his task. Stiles knew that look. If Derek looked up at him now, he would really lose his temper, and surprisingly it took a lot for that to happen on a large scale. He had seriously pissed him off.

"I'm fine, aren't I? Look, see, simple bullet, not a big deal at all. Plus I saved two people and killed the Wendigo. Job done. You don't have a reason to be angry-"

"You're my second alpha Stiles, I don't think you get what that means, if you die-"

"But I didn't!" Stiles exclaimed softly, having to shut his mouth again because the fucking pain was excruciating and he could still hear the pack downstairs sitting around waiting to have a meeting. Finally, Derek dug out the silver bullet, letting out a breath neither of them knew he'd been holding. The skin healed over and just like that, in three seconds, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Apart from the fact that he was exhausted of course, but that wouldn't take much fixing.

"Stiles," Derek sat back on his knees, sighing, eventually finding the control to look his fellow alpha in the eyes "you are a second alpha, which means you're also their alpha. To them, you're on the same calibre to me, they need you. If you die, they will lose their minds," Derek's face was more neutral now, and Stiles knew that he had found his anchor more solidly. It didn't make it any better. He knew what would happen to the pack if he wasn't there, he did; it would be horrible for them. He was like... well, he supposed that in a way he was like their father as well. Fuck, he was only eighteen. No way.

"I know," Stiles said, wetting his lips and staring at the bedside table "I know. But I couldn't leave those people to die Der, I couldn't. I didn't have time to ring you once I'd found the lare and I couldn't risk the little bastard hearing me. I was fine, hardly injured-"

"Stiles you lost half the blood in your body, you nearly did die"

Then there was this silence. A silence full of unspoken words. Derek was watching him, Stiles could feel it and he was still knelt on the floor, not moving. Apparently he was just sort of there and it hurt more than it should really, to know that Derek was angry with him, that he had fucked up again because of his stupid fucking good intentions.

But he knew that silence, it always happened after something like this had occurred; Derek was blaming himself more than anyone else, he always did. And he was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Stiles nearly died... again. Stiles didn't know how anyone had ever said that Derek Hale didn't have a heart. In fact, one of the alpha's main problems were that he cared too damn much. Stiles had the same personality trait, which always made him wonder about what their relationship would be like if they really did re-address their almost fucks that had been apparent before the alpha pack had hit town. Would they be too similar? Too destructive? Stiles just didn't know. It frightened him, if he was being honest. But then again, Stiles didn't consider something worthwhile unless it terrified him at least a little bit.

"They want to know you're alright," Derek's voice was croakier this time, and once again, he refused to make eye contact as he stood up to his full height again "you can stay here tonight, if you don't want to go back and lie to your father again," he turned and left the room. Stiles let out a breath of angst, running his hands through his dirty hair and flexing and unflexing his hands.

After three minutes, he decided that whatever issues existed between him and Derek weren't a priority over the betas and his friends. They were probably pining a little now, so he cleared his throat and stood up, stealing a top from Derek's drawer and pulling it over his head, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the fabric settling over his body, and the scent washing over him.

Man, he really was screwed.


	5. Just friends'

This was my favourite chapter to write so far, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

And, as always, let me know what you think in the reviews.

Deexx

* * *

"Woah there," Lydia spoke first as he entered the living room, eyes widening, teeth nibbling her bottom lip as she looked him up and down. He smirked at her as he plonked himself down on his designated armchair.

"You like?"

"I like very much. Are you sure that you're gay, because I can think of a few things we can do-"

"Careful, Jackson will threaten me, and I've already been arguing with Derek all morning. It's funny, being second alpha doesn't mean I get thrown into wall any less apparently," he remarked, rubbing the ghost of an ache at the back of his head where it had slammed against the solid surface just that morning. Derek was not happy with him, they were still fighting and it wasn't getting much better. Stiles didn't miss the spark of arousal he smelt when Derek walked in however and Jackson awkwardly cleared his throat. Stiles swallowed and sat up, cheeks flushing with colour as he smiled at their alpha.

"It's against his instincts, he's not allowed to hurt you, his wolf will self-destruct," she scoffed.

"Doesn't mean he wont try. And that only works if I shift and make him submit, and I won't because it creeps me out too much, I don't like the power"

"Don't be such a dumbass, there'll be a time when you will have to use that shit-" Lydia was cut off by Derek's entrance to the room, and Stiles diverted attention.

"Am I off the hook yet?-"

"No," Derek's voice snapped fast and choppy, but there wasn't as much maliciousness behind it as there had been the last couple of days.

"Whatever," Stiles sighed as Erica bounced into the room and dropped into his lap, resting her head against his shoulder blades. They were scenting him again after all the blood from the Wendigo's lare had killed the pack essence on him, and it was kind of really adorable that they were cuddling into him at every chance they got. He was still repressing the whole 'pack daddy' thing though, so he was totally not admitting it out loud.

"Someone's happy," Stiles remarked, grinning at Erica. She nodded once, looking very smug.

"I warned off the bitch that's been trying to get her claws into Boyd. I'm feeling triumphant," she replied, biting on her bottom lip with glee. He chuckled, shaking his head and sitting back more against the cushions.

"I remember when Emily Smith tried flirting with Jackson," Lydia said in a dramatically nostalgic voice. Stiles smirked, knowing that the girl was probably either dead or had left town out of terror "I put itching powder in her knickers and put sulphur in her clothes to make her smell. I stopped the name calling after a couple of weeks, nobody likes a bully, but she didn't even talk to him again after that; I think she was frightened I'd moltov her."

Stiles was sure even Derek cracked a small smirk then, a look taking over his eyes that made him wonder what the alpha would do should someone begin flirting with Stiles. They weren't together or anything, but there was something between them; and Stiles knew he wouldn't be sleeping with anyone else or dating anyone else for the moment.

"What's our next line of duty then chief?" Erica asked Derek. He tensed for a moment, letting out a soft sigh and sitting back, shrugging.

"Nothing. I want you all to relax and enjoy the fact that there isn't a murderous cannibal running around the forest stocking up on food supplies. You're still kids, right? So do... kid stuff," Derek said awkwardly. Stiles was trying not to laugh because seriously? 'Kid stuff' oh dear lord he literally was terrible at the whole 'go be free puppies' speeches. Although, he had to admit, Derek was an incredibly better alpha compared to what he had been like the previous couple of years.

"Well I'm intending to eat a lot of junk food. Anyone up for movies and pizza all day?" Stiles suggested, fingers playing absentmindedly with Erica's hair. There was a sudden upload of enthusiasm as everyone loudly stated their agreement. Derek rolled his eyes, but looked much more settled as Stiles shuffled around for his phone in his back pocket, and sent texts to Boyd, Scott and Allison (uggh it was so sickeningly adorable that they came as a unit), and Isaac who was in town looking for a car of his own.

He then scooted out from under Erica and moved to drive home to get some DVDs from his house, not without tripping over the table and hitting his knee on the TV first of course; nice to know that being a werewolf hadn't taken away his clumsiness and lack of hand to eye co-ordination when he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Derek stopped him near the front door however, moving so that Erica and Lydia, who were now bickering about whether or not Benedict Cumberbatch was too horse-faced to be attractive, couldn't hear them very well.

"Dude, we are not arguing anymore, I hate arguing with you, I'm fed up from this morning, I just want to enjoy-"

"I'm not going to argue with you," Derek interrupted, looking very uncomfortable and tired "I just wanted to tell you that I know we need to talk about... well, you know what we need to talk about. So tomorrow morning after you're done with your run, we can... talk about... stuff"

Stiles was struggling to keep a straight face again, having to force the muscles around his mouth not to twitch into a smile of amusement and fondness. Oh the joys of having an almighty crush on the most emotionally constipated werewolf possibly in existence. It was also hilariously ridiculous that Derek was actually proposing that they 'talk' because if there was one thing Derek Hale hated and thought was absolutely unnecessary to evolution, it was talking.

"Right, okay, sure. Don't like, give yourself an aneurysm or anything, I'm not that scary," Stiles finally let himself grin, rolling his eyes and affectionately tapping the left of Derek's face, before sprinting down the porch steps and jumping in his Jeep. Derek let out the breath he'd been holding and cursed his hostile personality for a moment. On the contrary, to Derek, the prospect of Stiles Stilinski was completely and utterly terrifying.

* * *

It turned out to be a pretty damn awesome day. They lounged about on the sofas watching the Star Trek movies and chatting animatedly before moving onto the X men and Marvel films, fighting about transitions and swaps from the sofas to the floor. They had to call in three pizza runs because, hello, hungry werewolves and meat feast toppings? Also the pizza guy was hot and Stiles enjoyed listening to Derek growl every time he answered the door and gave the dude his brightest, most charming Stilinski smile.

When it got to seven o'clock in the evening, they were onto chick flicks and, much too poor Jackson's dismay, The Notebook had been played on the screen, Rachel McAdams' ridiculously defined cheekbones kicking it in every shot. Marley and Me brought about an onslaught of tears, sobbing and manly sniffs of pain – yeah right Derek, you're not fooling anyone.

Stiles decided it was time for a Friends boxset marathon to cheer them up, and when he sat back down, he threw his legs over Derek's lap, settling his feet on Isaac's thighs, and getting comfortable. Stiles got into an argument with Jackson who compared him quite accurately to Chandler, and Scott who decided that Jennifer Anniston 'wasn't even that hot'. Stiles was a flaming homosexual, but Jennifer Anniston was fucking gorgeous and no one insulted her beauty in his presence. Derek sulked for an hour after Stiles said he was similar to Mr Heckles.

Around eleven, after they had gotten through two of the Harry Potter films, and Stiles was done echoing the words as the actors said them, half of them were asleep. Allison's eyes were drooping on a snoring Scott's shoulder, Erica was sound asleep curled up against Boyd on the floor, not twitching or having any nightmares for the first time in a long time. Derek was staring into space in thought, hands rested softly on Stiles' knees, heart beat slow and steady, contentment rolling off him in gentle streams of scent.

Lydia was slapping Jackson every three minutes to stop him from snoring, and Isaac was in rem sleep against Derek's collar bone on the other side, eyelids quivering, lips pursed tightly together. Nobody commented on Isaac's nightmares, Derek was the only one who knew the true nature of them, and he dealt with that with the beta privately, dismissing all speech when asked to reveal what truly went on in Isaac's head when no one could read his expressions. Stiles only hoped, as second alpha, to eventually receive that same level of trust.

No one moved to switch off the TV when the end credits rolled in, everyone was too comfortable, too immersed in their dreams, or too deep in subconscious thought to bother. Stiles didn't mind pack silence, that was when everyone was most honest actually. Heartbeats could be heard clearly, pulse patterns, scents; emotions could be felt in a circle only they could really feel. Even Lydia and Allison, the humans, could sense a wordless conversation when they were this calm. Sometimes it frightened Stiles, how well he knew these people, how profound his connection was with them, how much he loved them all, every single one of them, individually in different ways and for different reasons. But it made them strong, it made them strategic, trusting, safer. Stiles was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was a werewolf, but it was moments like this that made him appreciate the finer points of it, how humbling and soft it could be.

The light of the TV against the aphotic room was giving him a headache so he clicked his fingers and the TV shut out, the screen going blank, submerging them in a cocooned blanket of darkness.

"It's so weird when you do that," Derek's voice said beside him. Stiles smiled slightly, raising one eyebrow.

"Pretty cool, right?"

"Scary"

"You're only saying that because I can create a blood clot in your brain that can kill you in seconds, just by looking at you"

"No I'm saying it because it's weird, two years of thinking that you were just this annoying energetic kid that hung around on Scott's hip whilst we tried to get rid of Peter and the Kanima, and you were a mage all along. None of us had any idea. And now you're a werewolf too. I'm just saying, it's weird"

Lydia's breath had evened out and Jackson was snoring lightly again, Allison was sleeping too, which was probably why Derek was actually speaking in full, honest sentences; because the lights were off and it was just Stiles that could hear him.

"Man, you think it's weird, try _being_ me, I'm still freaking out about it all! But I'm like a mix between Harry Potter, and Mason Lockwood, and that is damn awesome I think," Stiles was making fun of it of course, because that's what he always did when something was messing with his head, he joked about it and pretended it was all okay.

"I'm just saying, it's... it's not where I'd have expected to end up, all this, if someone told me this would be our life two years ago, I would have punched them in the face"

"Back when you hated me," Stiles smirked, shuffling his legs because they were going a little numb. Isaac didn't even stir.

"I didn't hate you Stiles," Derek replied in a bored voice "you were an annoying little shit and I was... venting"

"I'm still an annoying little shit," Stiles considered, frowning a little at the outline of Derek's face.

"Yes you are," he agreed "but it's different now. We're all different. I thought we were talking about this in the morning," he suddenly said and Stiles shrugged, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

"Night time makes people more real, it's sort of like being drunk without the haziness, it's like a safety net," he said, breathing out a sigh and swallowing, wetting his dry lips.

"I don't like night time"

Of course not, Derek's head was somewhere that was dark 70% of the time anyway, he was a haunted guy with a lot of guilt and fear, why would anyone with that many crepescular thoughts enjoy a time when the world around him matched up to the colours in his mind? Night time was the time when demons came out to stab at you and remind you of the things that hide in the back of your psyche. But he knew it was better when the pack were around, when there was a presence to keep the demons at bay.

"Not a lot of people do. Honesty is scary, even for the most open people – holy fuck okay I'm going to stop right there before I end up like John Green on crack"

Derek's breathy chuckle could be heard as more of a twitch of amusement rather than an actual laugh. He was too peaced out to really start laughing. Stiles was too. There was this thing between them again, something there waiting to be acknowledged, a hovering little light that was on the verge of being let out of the jar. Surprisingly Derek caved first.

"It's confusing," his voice was gravelly, but solid and flowing and clear and Stiles' chest flipped, his breath quickening slightly. This conversation was genuinely about to happen.

"_You're_ confusing," he corrected himself slightly "I don't know what it is – well, I do know, I just don't want to know – fuck!" he cursed. Stiles drooped his head forward loosely, nodding. He knew that feel.

"It's not that I don't want to know, it's that it scares the shit out of me Stiles. You're – you know you're important to me, you know that and you've been aware of it for almost a year now okay but – I – uggh it's so – I'm over complicating it, I get that. I don't know how to _not_ overcomplicate it, this doesn't happen very often for me, I don't really care about people the way I care about you, and there's – there's a reason for that, and you get that right? You get why this is so difficult for me to come to terms with?"

Stiles drew a shaky breath in and nodded again. He moved his legs around so he was sat up properly.

"I do. I know man. You are supposed to trust me though, I'm your right hand guy, right? Okay that was not supposed to be an innuendo. Let me rephrase that. I'm supposed to be your second alpha, we're a team, we run this pack together and even before that, we were friends, the unfortunate duo, partners in crime, whatever the fuck they were calling us, we were. And I know friendship is always easier than... than something else. But the truth is we're not 'just friends' and we haven't been for a while, and I don't think we ever will be"

There was a few moments of silence again, where Derek seemed to soak up the words and turn them over in his that marvellous head of his. Stiles knew it wasn't really that Derek didn't trust him, it was that the guy just didn't trust himself. Derek had a hard time believing that he deserved the pack, let alone anything else that would bring him happiness.

"We should get everyone to bed," Derek said after a little while, and Stiles realised that would be all for the night. Maybe tomorrow they could talk about it a little bit more, but right now it was late and if they left everyone where they were, they would all wake up with cricks in their necks.

He nodded again, putting a hand on Derek's knee to pull himself up, before moving to nudge Scott.

"Buddy, it's half-eleven, you should probably go home now, I know your mum was expecting you," he said in a soft voice. Scott stirred, rubbing his eyes and blinking them open. He looked at Stiles for a second, processing him, before nodding, pressing a kiss to Allison's forehead to wake her up and drive her back to the McCall residence so they could sleep properly.

Derek woke Isaac and sent him to bed and Stiles pressed a hand to the side of Lydia's face, stroking her cheekbone. She slowly opened her eyes, frowning at him for a second. She sat up a little, nudging Jackson hard in the ribs, smirking when he swore loudly at her, but helped her up off him gently nonetheless.

Boyd moved awake to the sound of everyone else fidgeting about, collecting their belongings, and thus, Erica groaned and rolled away from her boyfriend, clawing her way over to the sofa so she could stand up numbly. They retired to bed a couple of minutes later, and Derek saw everyone out.

As Jackson drove off with Lydia in the Porche and Scott rumbled off in his mother's vauxhall, Derek walked Stiles to his Jeep. Stiles turned after unlocking the door and smiled smally, fiddling with the keys in his hands.

"You still want me to come over tomorrow morning?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and shifting around on his feet, energy refraining from keeping him still even when he was tired.

"Yeah... drive safe, okay?" Derek said, finding the floor very interesting. Stiles opened his mouth slightly, lifting his chin and rolling his eyes, shaking his head with a smile.

"You are absolutely terrible at this, you know that?" Stiles chuckled, nibbling on his bottom lip. Derek's brow furrowed and he pouted, huffing slightly.

"I'm trying! It's you! You make me all... yeah. Well, like I said, confusing. Now get in the god damn car and go away, my head hurts from thinking too much," he whined. Stiles laughed again, smiling even wider at the way Derek's heart stuttered and he looked away awkwardly.

"C'mere," Stiles tutted, grabbing the back of Derek's neck and pulling him in for a tight hug, taking in the warmth and the scent. He nuzzled his face in Stiles' shoulder for a second before he pulled away, Stiles still smiling gently as he climbed into the seemingly invincible car that had survived so much, watching it drive away down the path into the trees.

Yup, he was officially terrified.

* * *

It was eight o'clock the next morning when Stiles sprinted up to the Hale house, covered in sweat, stinking. He was a little tired, having been up at five in the morning to run the entire stretch of the Beacon Hills reserve. What, okay, the Adderall hardly worked for him anymore now his stomach had extra clever healing powers that meant pretty much any foreign substance containing a drug or depressant, got obliterated the moment it went down his throat. He had to take six tablets to calm down when he was going through a panic stage. Other than that, the only thing he could do to stop himself ripping his own skin off because it was itching and buzzing with energy, was to run for as long as he could. Pretty much any exercise actually. He still went for a regular run every other morning, and kept to the routine Derek had set for him before all this, including a few hours in Derek's little gym room on the top floor.

"Yooohooooooooooooooo! Rise and shine buttheads," Stiles called through the house with a shit eating grin on his face, getting a string of very inventive swear words from Erica who he could hear rolling over and shoving her head under the pillow from downstairs. He went straight to the kitchen, pulling an ice cold water bottle out and downing half of it the moment the liquid touched his lips.

"What the fuck kind of time do you think this is?" Derek grumbled, stumbling into the room, hair all messy on his head, t-shirt skewwhiff, pyjama pants wonky and loose on his hips. Stiles pursed his lips, swallowing hard and blinking a few times to remember that he hadn't just stepped into a professional porno or a photoshoot for GQ.

"I call it morning. Just because you're an unfit old man, doesn't mean I have to be too. I'm the cool dad, gotta keep up my image, you know?" he retorted cheerfully, recovering from the momentary shock of adorableness and arousal that had shot through him so that Derek wouldn't smell it. He doubted that he'd covered it up though, Stiles was an eighteen year old kid with ADHD, he was in a constant state of arousal around Derek Hale, and was at loss to explain how everyone else wasn't. He sat himself down on the stool for a moment around the kitchen island, watching Derek turn the kettle on for his morning coffee.

"I suppose you're going to be spending the next three hours making use of the three thousand dollar gym room I paid for," he said, voice gravelly. He cleared his throat, grimacing when he caught a whiff of his own breath.

"If you're whining about me not paying a penny for it, I'm going to invoke my fellow alpha rights. Not that I need to of course, you couldn't say no to me if you tried, I'm adorable"

"No Stiles, you're just annoying," he replied. Stiles feigned dramatic offence, clapping his hand to his sweaty chest, dropping his jaw and glaring playfully.

"I'm hurt Derek, I'm really hurt. I thought you were nicer than that"

He didn't think that, for the record. Derek Hale was not very often a nice guy at all really, especially not in the mornings. But the dude had his moments. Moments where he would laugh involuntarily at one of Stiles' ridiculously cheesy puns or jokes or innuendos, and it would be a proper laugh, a true one with unfairly white teeth and squinty eyes and all. Moments where he could see the genuine concern and fear that came from being the alpha of a pack of teenage werewolves. Moments where he would try his utmost hardest to push through uncomfortable situations if it meant it would make the people he loved happy. Derek wasn't necessarily a nice man, but he was definitely an undoubtedly good one.

"You'll live," he said sourly, turning back to his coffee making when the kettle pinged and he poured the steaming water into the mug, stirring it with a teaspoon and sitting down opposite Stiles, very interested in his drink.

"You are so not a morning person," Stiles teased, rolling his eyes. Derek didn't say anything, but that was common, Derek didn't talk much anyway, the last couple of days had been quite a shock to the system. Well, actually, now Stiles thought about it, Derek had been talking more in the last year or so, he seemed to come out of his shell. Yes, he was still a steaming pile of emotional baggage, but the pack had done wonders for him and the fact that Stiles could even make him laugh at all was a massive improvement seeing as all the dude had done when they had first met, was growl, lurk and frown a lot.

"So you know we were going to have that talk this morning? Should I work out first so you can you know, pull yourself out of sourpuss mode, or are you okay now-"

"I'm fine. I'm just... let me wake up first. I can't believe you made me get out of bed at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Aren't you supposed to work today anyway?" Derek said, gritting his teeth and asking a question to distract himself.

"Yeah, not till midday, and I'm working the night shift too so Jimmy is paying me extra," he chirped happily, forcing himself not to fidget in his seat too much. The full moon was in a couple of days, so he was extra on edge. A few hours running wasn't enough to calm him down so that he could work in a café with customers, it was why he needed to do the gym room on top of the track run, so he could sweat it all out. Plus it made him feel even more powerful when he had some meat on him. He would always be lanky, he knew that, he wouldn't be all beefy like Derek or Danny, but he had strength in his joints and muscles now. The werewolf thing helped of course, but he was a _better _werewolf, and Stiles always liked to be the best of himself.

"Well make sure you're over here for lunchtime tomorrow; you know what you were like last time before the full moon, and it is only your second one, we'll probably have to chain you down again," he sighed, squinting one eye and rubbing his hand through his hair.

"Learned your lesson have you?" Stiles replied distastefully. The fiasco last full moon had actually been partly Derek's fault, Stiles had no problem saying that. He had been adamant that Stiles would be okay without the chains, that he wouldn't go crazy and try to kill everyone.

"I don't like doing that to you Stiles, I remember what it was like being tied down as a new wolf, and it's not a fun experience. It's horrible, the wolf-"

"Yes thank you, I remember," Stiles stopped him, cringing a little and paling.

"You just need to find your anchor, that's all. Once you've done that we can run as a pack, you'll even be able to keep from transforming on a full moon, if that's what you want, especially as an alpha. Don't stress out too much," he said, seemingly to convince himself more than anything. Stiles nodded passively, drinking some more of his water. They sat in a comfortable silence whilst Derek consumed his coffee. Afterwards he got up and began making himself an omelette.

"I don't really know what I'm supposed to say," Stiles huffed eventually, playing with the label on his water bottle. Derek plated his breakfast but didn't sit back down. He simply looked at Stiles for a while before he rolled his tongue around his mouth and shook his head.

"You're not supposed to say anything. I'm supposed to talk, that's the problem. You're basically waiting for me to sort myself out. You... I don't even know"

"Seriously dude, relax, I'm not going to pull out my dad's gun and shoot you in the head. Look, it's a simple equation, I'm attracted to you, that much is obvious, you're attracted to me... at least I think you are, considering that you're losing your mind over this a little. So what the hell is stopping this? I mean, everyone already thinks we're dating, wouldn't it be nice to not correct them for once?"

Once again, Stiles made an easy point, made it all seem so fucking simple, so uncomplicated. But it came down to the fact that if Stiles was his friend, Derek could keep himself protected. As a friend, if Stiles died, it would just be losing another blip of light in the sky. But if he let Stiles in, if he made himself vulnerable – which was required in a relationship – if he allowed himself to fall for Stiles, he would be losing so much more. That had always been Derek's problem, he loved too fiercely.

Oh who the fuck was he kidding? Those words from last night were floating around his brain, chanting a mantra 'we're not 'just friends' and we haven't been for a while, and I don't think we ever will be' of course Stiles was more than a friend to him, he'd spent more time with him over the last two years than he had with most of his pack; they had gone from enemies, to reluctant allies, to sarcastic acquaintances, to respective comrades, to friends, to best friends. And somewhere along the tight rope, the line between friends and something more had been blurred. He remembered what it was like to kiss Stiles, like things sort of fell into place, but numbed out at the same time. It was clichéd, and he could feel the ridiculousness of the situation rolling off his own brain; but he didn't think he had ever felt anything hotter or more erotic and right, than having Stiles' hands grab at his hair, or his lips against his own.

"Seriously dude, we're trying to have a serious conversation here!" Stiles exclaimed, dropping his head to bang against the counter. Derek flushed red, and he could smell his own arousal along with Stiles'. God they weren't good at this restraint thing. They never had been.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm just trying to sort through it all. I hear you, I do. I just... what do you want from me?"

Stiles paused for a moment, drawing in a stressed breath, pressing his cold bottle against his face to cool it down.

"I want us! That's all man, it's not like I'm asking you to sign your soul over to me or anything, it's not a freaking marriage proposal, we don't even have to be official, we can do the whole date thing first if you want, I don't even care. I just think..." Stiles broke off for a moment, breathing slowly, knowing this required patience "I just think we have the potential for something kinda awesome here and I don't think we should ignore that just because we're a little scared"

Once again, there was a silence as Derek thought about what had been said. Slowly, it was becoming apparent that Stiles would not always have to do all the work in the relationship, or whatever it was that they had. Derek was seeing clearer now, it worked both ways and Stiles wouldn't wait for him forever.

Well, actually, he probably would, but it would be exhausting and painful and Derek wouldn't make Stiles do that, he couldn't.

"Next Monday," Derek's voice slid through the quiet that had laid itself between them and Stiles frowned, quirking the top left side of his lip "if you come over next Monday, we'll do something," he said, chest getting slightly bigger as he drew in a steadying breath. Stiles' lips parted a tiny bit and his eyes widened for a second.

"Like a date?" he asked apprehensively. Derek and his many words, always so stimulating. Stiles nearly rolled his eyes at the vagueness of half the words that came from his fellow alpha's mouth.

"Yes," Derek said, biting on the inside of his mouth "like a date"

"Took you long enough," Stiles' lips split into a grin and he swallowed, letting out an exhalation of appeasement, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Shut up and go do some exercise before Erica gets up and beats the shit out of you for waking her up," Derek responded, flushing when Stiles jumped up from the stool and pressed a rough kiss to his cheek before bouncing up the stairs. Derek wondered if he had put the young alpha in a mood that would have him singing and running around the café for the rest of the day; he made a note to apologise to Stiles' boss next time he was in town. For now, Derek had taken a step into the deep end, and he realised, with another insufflation, that it wasn't as shatteringly unnerving as he thought it would be. He had set himself up for it, now he just had to make sure he didn't fuck everything up. Now for the difficult part.

* * *

"But Stiles, _bacon,_" John Stilinski said exasperatedly, an air of desperation in his eyes. Stiles smirked at him, looking him straight on.

"But Dad, _heart disease,_" Stiles reciprocated mockingly, popping a curly fry into his own mouth and grinning innocently, sipping at his soda and munching on part of a chicken kiev. John grumbled, glaring back at his son as he poked at his potato salad with his fork distastefully.

"You're mean"

"No, I'm your son who doesn't want you to die before you're eighty. Now shut up and eat your rabbit food, prissy," Stiles winked, downing some more of his drink.

"So about that burglary at the town library a couple of days back-"

"How the hell do you know about that?"

"Intuition"

"Bullshit"

"I listened to your radio-"

"Stiles!"

"Dad!"

He sighed tiredly, finally deciding to put some of his food in his mouth before chewing a little, looking at his son with contempt, groaning when Stiles pouted and made puppy eyes at him.

"It's not a big thing, we're dealing with it," John said capturing Stiles' full attention immediately "but we don't really understand it. They stole an entire collection of lore books, some of them were worth a lot of money," he explained, forehead tensed. Stiles knew his dad hated things that didn't make sense, although in Beacon Hills, not much did, so they were sort of used to it by now.

"Well did you get any prints or boot marks?"

"We got nothing, they've covered their tracks like a pro, the CCTV was down for maintenance. It's freaking unlucky actually, almost like it wasn't a coincidence. But there's... there's something else," John said, swigging at his coffee.

"What?"

"The librarian has gone missing. She's not at her apartment, it hasn't been slept in and her parents in Oklahoma haven't seen or talked to her at all. I mean, the library was broken into at night, so the librarian wouldn't even have been there, so she wasn't in any danger, which made me think that if she's been kidnapped, it had to be because she knew too much about something to be allowed to stick around.

My bet is that there's something more to the lore books being stolen, and the librarian told the burglars about the CCTV cams being down, so they took her to get rid of any creases in the sheet," John was good at his job, and had probably made all these logical assumptions within the first hour of arriving on the scene two days previous.

Stiles had wondered for a while whether he might ever want to follow in his father's footsteps. That was however, before he discovered his creative tap, and taken up writing. He had plot lines planned out for several books, and he intended to start his first one quite soon. It was just deciding whether he really needed any further education to improve his techniques. He probably did, but at the core of everything is a raw talent, Stiles didn't want to taint his passion with academia and the stress of a university course.

"What were the lore books on?" Stiles asked, frowning as he brought his mind back to the matter in question.

"It's strange-"

"Dad," Stiles said, swallowing his food and looking at his father as though to tell him to just spit it out already.

"Werewolves," John spoke. Stiles' face dropped and his heart pounded in his head "the lore books were on werewolves"

There was a moment in which Stiles allowed his brain to panic, his palms growing sweatier by the second. So much for a few weeks off. This goddamn town would not give them a fucking break.

"Stiles?" John's voice pierced the cloudiness of trepidation, making Stiles jump slightly and blink furiously.

"I need to make a phone call"

"Stiles-"

"I'm sorry dad, I just remembered there's something I forgot to mention to Scott earlier. I just... I'll be back in a couple of minutes and we can finish eating. Just a few seconds," he blundered, pretty much falling off his stool as he made to stand up, rushing through the living room and out the front door, the cold night air hitting his buzzing skin, his stomach tingling as he fumbled to dial Derek's number.

"Stiles?"

"We have a problem"

He could practically see the look of done-ness fall over his half-boyfriend's face from the other side of the line, and he could hear the breath hitch in his throat.

"Finish eating with your father, then come over. I'll call everyone in"

"But-"

"Stiles, just eat with your dad please," Derek's voice was urgent, but pleading, and Stiles knew that the pack had sensed how much he missed talking to his father properly lately. He drew in a breath to steady his adrenaline, the cool air trickling down to the pit of his lungs, making things a little clearer. He nodded once.

"Okay, I'll be an hour"

"Keep calm"

Derek hung up and Stiles let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, leaning the bottom of his spine against the garden fence, calming himself. There was no way he could go back into the house and converse with his dad whilst he was in alpha strategic mode, so he made sure that he was settled enough to focus on words that weren't about threats and possible action plans before he entered the house once more, downtrodden and dreading what they were going to find out in the following twenty four hours.

Stupid fucking werewolves.

* * *

He was jumpy and lose-tongued by the time he pulled up fast in front of the Hale House. He was out of the car and in the front room faster than the human eye could follow properly and Derek turned to look at him, mid conversation with Scott.

"You okay man, you look kinda-"

"Yes, I'm fine. That library burglary I mentioned a couple of days back? The librarian has gone missing along with a bunch of werewolf lore books, my dad thinks the girl's been kidnapped because she knows too much about something or other"

"How much adderall did you take?"

"The entire bottle. It doesn't matter man, we've got people on our back again and I want to shake them off, but we don't know anything about them and-"

Derek's hands were firmly on his shoulders suddenly, and he was being forced to look into ridiculously attractive hazel green eyes that really should be illegal if Stiles was being honest.

"I told you to calm down! Sit down or something, you're making everyone nervous," Derek's voice was stern, but he could trace that edge of fear anywhere. They were probably over reacting, but so much had gone on in the last two years, Stiles had built up a phobia of being unprepared. Plus he had learned the hard way that underestimating the small things usually lead to a lot of blood and screaming and confused running – again with the running, Stiles was fed up of it all. He did, nevertheless, take a place on the sofa beside Lydia, sitting back and letting out an irritable sigh, worrying his bottom lip and tapping the arm of the chair repeatedly, struggling to keep a cap on his emotions. The full moon had only been yesterday, and no amount of exercise seemed to be getting rid of the excess energy.

"Who would want to steal werewolf lore? You can just sit down in the library and read it anyway," Erica wondered aloud because no one had talked for a few seconds.

"Someone trying to hide what they wanted to read. Those books are over a hundred years old, they're in with the Grimoires, but they're locked up and you need special permission to get them out of the case," Deaton was there, Stiles just noticed. The man was perched on the small surface for drinks between the sofa and the armchair, the same neutral expression on his face. Deaton was ever the presence of calm amongst panic. If he was worried about something, then everyone should really be freaking out. He didn't look too worked up though, merely curious, and Stiles squinted one eye, innocently raising his hand slightly.

"Right, about the Grimoires..."

"Stiles?"

"I might have taken them out for a bit of light reading. Oh don't look at me like that dude, those things are awesome and I have to get my juju training from somewhere, right? The vet can't teach me everything, no offence Deats," Stiles glanced at Deaton who simply rolled his eyes and straightened his back a little.

"Did you definitely lock up the case when you took them out though? Because I'm going to hit you if you left the damn thing open," Derek said, shifting his position the way he always did when he was bracing himself to yell or scold someone for being stupid.

"Of course I did man, those books are old, I do have a little bit of respect for my elders you know," he replied, although he didn't sound too sure of himself. It was one of those situations where even though he really did know he had done something, he doubted whether he hadn't because he was thinking so hard about it.

"So how the hell did they get in"

"They, or what?"

"Oh c'mon don't ask that question Lydia, that is the most clichéd question in the history of questioning-"

"Stiles," Derek snapped, shooting him a glare. Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away "we do need to consider the possibility that what took the lore books, and maybe the librarian as well, is supernatural"

Stiles let out a laboured breath, bowing his head slightly, squinting his right eye and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb "why the fuck does it always have to be supernatural?" he said, looking up once more and swallowing solemnly, with a single nod, letting Derek know that it was okay for him to just talk on.

"Right. Now, our first line of action, as always, is evidence-"

"I'm not bringing Danny into this again," Stiles interrupted before he could help himself, shaking his head defiantly, three steps ahead of his fellow alpha's thought processes "_I_ can hack into the CCTV, if I have to. I might be able to get the tapes off my dad, but I doubt it, he doesn't trust me very much at the moment"

"Okay. Scott, Isaac, you're with me, you need to figure out a way for us to get into the library tomorrow night so we can scope it over, check for anything the cops haven't picked up. Erica, you're on mooching duty, get over to the station tomorrow morning, see if you can charm your way through some of the guys in there, get as much info as you can. Boyd, Allison you're with Lydia and Jackson, you are going to stay with Deaton and research, I want something on every supernatural creature that's had something against werewolves, as far back as you can go, narrow it down as much as possible"

* * *

Derek was having an off day. Well, Laura used to call it a 'danger day' because she made sure to keep her eye on him like a hawk.

It was destructive, numb, crippling. He hadn't talked to anyone all day, not when he'd woken up to an empty house and realised that he had given everyone a part to play, apart from himself. Derek made a show of preferring to shy away from social situations, but in all honesty, he didn't do well at all by himself. It was why he had been so... broken, back when he had first encountered the beginnings of his current pack. Too much time, too many empty hours and whispers and ghosts all around him and inside his head. Remnants of smiles and jokes and banter.

'Losing a member of pack isn't like losing family, it's like losing a limb'

His mother had once told him that, tucking him into bed one night, taking an old leather bound book from his bedside table and flicking through the aboriginal style pictures and drawings of folklore and werewolf history. He had never really thought he would have to wrap his head around something like that, never believed that one day, out of a family pack of fifteen people, he would be amongst the only two left alive.

In his head, he couldn't help recalling everything he had lost.

In his head, on days like this, he could still feel the heat of the flames, hear the screaming, feel the way the flesh had burned off the bones of his family, his sisters and brothers, his mother and father, his aunt and – oh god her baby, her fucking three month old baby.

It was – it was all his fault, it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been so god damned desperate and weak, so in need of a connection with someone who truly understood him. It was fake, it was all fucking fake and Kate had been fake and that – holy shit did that sit in his soul, it would have his soul in a death grip for the rest of his life. He remembered being stood there, helpless, simply staring blankly, tears falling from his eyes as John Stilinski told him in a low, broken voice that his entire family were piles of ash and charred corpses.

"My dad smacked me around the back of the head when I asked him to show me the CCTV, so I'm gonna need at least four cans of Monster and three giant packs of doritos. Also, consistent cups of coffee throughout the day whilst I do some hacking. Chop, chop sweetheart, get going, I need my fuel," Stiles' voice cut through his eardrums as a laptop slammed down on the desk behind the sofa he was sat on, and a chair pulled back as he began to set up. Derek swallowed, letting out a deep breath as he tried to gather himself. He just became aware enough to catch the money Stiles chucked at him for the food and drink he wanted, and he looked down at it as though he had never seen it before.

When he looked up, Stiles' eyebrows were raising in concern and his lips parted ever so slightly.

"Dude, are you okay? You don't look so good, and you smell like-"

"I'm fine. I'll – I'll be back in 20," Derek managed, voice quiet and closed off. Maybe going to the shop would bring him more into reality, maybe he might feel a bit better with some fresh air.

"Woah, wait a second," Stiles said, standing up from his chair and wetting his lips like he always did when he was worked up. The hair pulling would start soon, without at doubt. Derek always supposed that was why Stiles had a buzz cut for so long. His anxiety normally caused him to tug at it, actually quite forcefully when he was especially stressed.

"You're not okay, you reek of despair and sadness. What's going on?"

"I always smell of those things," Derek sighed, moving to leave again.

"Not as much lately though, so what's different about today?" Stiles asked, preventing him from avoiding the conversation even further.

"Nothing!" Derek snapped, unable to stop himself; he was so wound up, so sort of... detached. He just wanted to wallow in his own self-hate and pity. He had more important things to worry about anyway.

"So if there's nothing wrong why are you being such a bastard?" Stiles replied in a colder voice, eyes narrowing, arms folding over his chest. Derek didn't like that look, it meant Stiles was losing his patience, and it really took a lot for that to happen.

"I'm going to get you your damn energy drink and-"

"No, you're going to tell me what the hell is going on with you because it kind of looks like three years of improvement is going out the window"

"I just-" Derek broke off, shoulders dropping, chest deflating as he struggled, as usual, to really put what was going on in his head, into words "I have these – these days where sometimes it's a little louder than normal," his voice was down in decibels now and his head was bowed, a way of protecting himself. Less eye contact meant less transparency.

"Louder?" Stiles asked, tone cracked and a little defeated, confused and worried.

"Just – louder is really – it's the only way I can think of to describe it. Sometimes, it's just a little more difficult to forget, and I'm so used to shutting off and dealing with it by myself. But – I'm- I'm actually going to go to the shop now, so get – get back to your hacking and I'll be back soon"

Stiles could probably have gone after him if he thought it would do any good, but Derek was being more uncommunicative than usual, which meant he just needed time. A couple of hours at the most though, because Stiles was just a really fucking impatient person, and Derek had _tried _to talk, he had attempted to tell him what was wrong, which was a huge improvement still. For the moment, Stiles had a job, and that was good because he needed something to take his mind off the fact that he was a _fucking alpha werewolf mage._

* * *

"Okay, so I've hacked the CCTV and there are tapes from the last couple of weeks. I'm going to look through all of them to make sure we haven't missed anything, it's gonna take me about six hours," Stiles said after huffing, swearing, muttering and almost crying at the screen of his laptop for about five and a half hours, having gone through seven cups of coffee, the pizzas Derek had ordered for lunch, and the Monster and Doritos he had gone out to buy earlier. His eyes were weirdly wide, he had nibbled his lip until it was bleeding in several places – the blood remaining there despite the cuts having healed over almost immediately – and his hair was messy from having been ruffled and pulled at every time he thought he was getting close to something, but got cut out by firewall. The living room table was a complete array of cables Derek didn't understand, and didn't really want to ask about, all connected to random hard drives and strange technical thin things he still didn't feel the need to make an enquiry about.

"Why did it take so long?" Derek asked with a frown. He wasn't stupid at any rate; he didn't have the knowhow, but he did know that it should normally only take about three minutes to hack into CCTV, providing you had an IP address. That also depended on whether that then lead onto a pathway that allowed access to past archives. Stiles was wickedly intelligent when he could concentrate properly and for long enough, but he was no Danny when it came to hacking.

"Few obstacles; its freakishly protected considering it's only a damn library and I'm only trying to get the CCTV, not the actual database holding every single smidgen of information in that place. But whatever, I didn't want Danny involved. I'll make do. I've managed it anyway, it's just sieving through it that's going to be the challenge now. What exactly have you been doing all day anyway?" Stiles replied, furrowing his brow and finally taking his eyes away from the computer screen, running his hand through his hair again and slumping back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.

Derek scowled at him, narrowing his eyes "I've been navigating everyone else; they're good," he said distastefully, still offended that Stiles had accused him of doing nothing all day "but if they don't have absolutely clear instructions, they run around like headless chickens," he huffed, growling when his phone started buzzing in his hand again. He had been working on going through the library blueprints that Isaac had dropped off earlier, a present from Lydia apparently; and he was trying to work out an efficient way to scope the library as a pack – he had decided that all of them should go in instead (Lydia had actually called him and yelled at him to include the humans in the practical stuff) – so he was actually being very productive, thank you very much. He pressed the green button and after Stiles shot him a look of scolding at the irritated expression on his face, Derek drew in a breath.

"What?" he asked down the line in the calmest possible way, smiling sarcastically at his sort-of-boyfriend whilst he was at it.

"We've ruled out ghouls; they've been extinct in America for over three years now and we checked with the international board of supernatural regulations, there haven't been any detected travelling through the area in the last three weeks, they would know about it," Allison's stoic voice said down the phone and Derek's annoyance flared up again; the damn girl hated him, she was a down right bitch to him and he didn't appreciate being talked to like a fucking child half the time; she made him look inadequate at every chance she got and it made him want to rip her throat out. But she was pack, whether he liked it or not – which really said something about their dynamic considering he was supposed to be head alpha – and he was forced to listen to her by the demanding look Stiles sent his way again.

"I didn't think it was a ghoul anyway, those bastards are sloppy with their crime scenes, half of the ones still left alive in Britain are in prison," Derek replied in a forced civil tone "keep looking, there has to be something," he added, rolling his eyes when Stiles narrowed his eyes, daring him to put the phone down before he had said something a little less neutral and regal to her. He resisted another urge to growl and sighed "you're doing good, keep it up," he said once, and blankly, slamming his thumb down on the red button and throwing it sideways on the sofa to the left of him.

"She's not that bad-"

"She'd try to kill me if it didn't mean she had to lose Scott," Derek snapped. Stiles tensed his jaw, trying to ignore the spike of anger he felt; he hadn't gone for a run today, he was high on caffeine and sugar, and Derek was being grouchier than usual, which was saying something because Derek was totally the grouchiest person Stiles knew.

"But she could kill you, if she really wanted to, if she tried hard enough. But she doesn't, so maybe cut her a bit of slack, okay?" Stiles said, keeping his voice as level as he could as he slurped on his iced cappuccino to distract himself.

"I'll give her a break, when she gives me one. Weren't you supposed to be getting on with something-"

"Just because you're a fellow alpha and pack member, doesn't mean I won't punch you in the face," Stiles said in a low voice as he went back to typing, his long calloused fingers flickering over the keys like it was a second nature. Derek swallowed a snappy retort, knowing that whatever came out, would be regretted later, and would do nothing for them in the early stages of their already fragile relationship. What, okay? He was learning.


	6. Gone

Warning: Pain and feels and minor character death. Sorry, it had to be done.

I don't know if I've done this stuff any justice, but I did my best, so let me know what you think.

Hope you enjoy, and review :D

Deexx

* * *

"Oh my god, seriously? Do all creepy weird sociopaths wear leather these days?" Stiles gasped, clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt over his heart as he turned the corner.

"Wouldn't that then make you a creepy weird sociopath?"

Stiles swallowed heavily, taking a slow, steady step backwards. The man stood in front of him was about an inch or two taller, his figure lean, cheekbones sharp, skin mildly tanned and flawless, eyes tinted grey. If Stiles wasn't scared shitless at the sudden growling of his wolf in his gut, he'd probably have spent more time hitting on him.

"Who the hell are you?" Stiles demanded. He still wasn't very good at controlling his shift; if he had a dollar for every time he'd nearly fucked everything up with his red flashy eyes in public, he'd be rich. There was the smell of blood filling his senses as well, making his jaw itch with the urge to retract his fangs, his fingers tingling. His sharp eyes honed in on the crimson smudges across his opposition's fingers and the small almost drip at the corner of the guy's mouth.

"Take a guess"

"I don't like guessing games," Stiles replied, focusing on keeping his breathing under control, remembering the techniques Derek had been trying to teach him to keep himself grounded and in his own head "too much effort for a lowly teenager"

"Except you're a werewolf," the guy smiled, tilting his head to the left slightly before his eyes changed, the blood vessels becoming more prominent, the skin around them wrinkling a little. The guy allowed his lips open a crack to reveal razor sharp fangs on the top half of his jaw, different to Stiles' and for some reason, a lot more menacing. Then it registered that Stiles was stood in front of Stefan Salvatore.

Stiles had only been on the phone with Bonnie that morning about how Stefan was on a blood binge again, and Damon was on the hunt to find him; which meant that cuddly, compassionate, Romeo Stefan was AWOL, and this bastard staring at his ventricle was the famous ripper. He didn't know much about vampire/werewolf relations through history but what he did know was sort of setting him on edge and accounted for why he was having such a hard time refraining from tearing the dude's throat out.

"Give me a little more credit," Stiles said, making the decision to bring out the big guns in case he needed them. He closed his eyes for a mere slither of a second, dropping an inch of his repression and almost pruning as his claws grew out and his jaw clicked and contracted, fangs coming out to play "I'm a Mage as well," he smiled almost politely, blinking once as his pupils shuttered ruby red. Stefan hissed at him, bottom half of his jaw pushing forward a little. The moment Stefan took a step forward however, he paused, eyes going wide, hands clutching at his head, gnarling and thrashing to the floor, on his knees. Stiles walked forward then, canines still razor sharp and strong.

That was where they differed. Stefan was a cat, in a way, stalking his pray, designed to revel in the chase, pripping and grooming himself, hissing and scratching, going straight in for the kill, limbs agile and soft and strong. The wolf was set apart by its more earthly hunting connections, in touch with the ground, the elements; always similar to the feline species, but at the same time complete opposites circling each other, fangs bared, one side created to cut and sting, the other, being Stiles, created to tear.

"See I'm wondering why a mindless killer like the famous ripper," Stiles said, acting a lot more confident than he was really feeling, having to keep at least one side of his brain focused on holding the spell up; the spell forming the aneurysm in Stefan's head, growing larger or smaller depending on what Stiles wanted to happen, and he did not want to kill tonight "would want to be all mysterious and strategic by stealing a bunch of witchy juju books on werewolves," he continued, crouching when he was in front of Stefan, hearing Isaac and Derek appearing behind him at the end of the isle where he had come from. They didn't approach, however much their instincts were probably growling at them to do so; Stiles was powerful, but he needed concentration and self-presence and that wasn't something he could focus on if members of his pack, being one of his best friend's and his boyfriend at the same time, were flanking him too closely and putting themselves at risk.

"Was it a challenge? Because dude, there was no need to be cryptic, I'm a smart guy and I've got a shit load of resources, if you needed something, you could have just come and asked for it," Stiles sighed, putting out a finger, claw softly pressing against his skin to bring Stefan's chin up so that he was looking into his eyes. It hurt, watching the pain there in the gaze, knowing that he was causing it. He'd said it before, he was a lover not a fighter; but sometimes situations called for it, and vampires were dangerous, especially when humans were their instinctive prey, and Stefan Salvatore, the almighty ripper, was one of the most dangerous of them all. Or so it was told.

"Y-you wouldn't have given a-anything to me," Stefan struggled, sweat dripping down his face, tears of agony forming in his eyes as Stiles stubbornly kept the spell up. He wasn't stupid, like he'd already said, and he doubted that Stefan was cocky enough to come without back up.

"Where's your hybrid buddy?" Stiles deflected Stefan's reply. This was the real reason he was holding back, the real reason he was nervous; that damn original hybrid they were all fussing about. Bonnie had warned him in their conversations that Stefan was more than likely in cahoots with the dude, especially if he was indulging in another blood party.

"How are you both alphas?" Stefan coughed, eyes squinting in pain again.

"Where is Klaus, I know he's here," Stiles said in a firmer voice, wanting nothing more than to drop the spell and stop Stefan's pain. Violent mass murderer or not, Stiles knew this was not who Stefan really was, he could see it in his expression, the cracks in his reflection; this man was not evil, he was just lost. And addicted.

"Relax love," that voice made Stiles freeze up, just managing to keep his power line buzzing. Slowly, he brought his eyes up from Stefan's, and met the face of a slightly older looking, extremely attractive man speaking with a crisp, soft British accent, the hints of a slight lisp on the edge of his syllables "how's about you let my friend go and we can settle this Original Hybrid to Werewolf Mage, hmm?"

Stiles stood back up to full height, gnashing momentarily at Derek who was practically wolfing out to his left behind him, and drew in a deep breath, straightening his back, flexing his fingers and bringing his claws out properly, drawing on that rational place inside him, the place that would calm the wolf. He kept it close by though, blinking once so that his red eyes softened back to his normal amber brown.

"Dude, your pet was about to try and kill me," Stiles exclaimed. Although not really wanting to hurt Stefan much, he was still pissed off; he didn't like anyone trying to kill him, it wasn't very good manners.

"I am aware," Klaus sighed, moving forward and placing a hand on Stefan's shoulder "now drop the spell or I'll rip your bloody heart out"

Derek growled more audibly from close by and Stiles considered disobeying Klaus' commands for a moment, his eyes flickering between Stefan who was spluttering in a whimpering mess on the ground, and Klaus who looked braced, slightly angry, but mildly amused and a touch impressed. He was looking back at Stiles with an air of extreme curiosity, his eyes narrowed as they searched his face, registering his features, his teeth, his claws, his scent, his power. Stiles took a moment to let a drop of satisfaction and smugness wash over him; Klaus Mikealson was threatened by him.

Then he swallowed, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, feeling the familiar twinge of pain in his chest when he allowed a slightly darker, more powerful spell to drop from his power line. He rolled his shoulders this time, clicking his neck, feeling the bones adjusting to the newly strengthened muscle, despite it not actually changing size or weight. He stood up to full height, straightening his spine and taking a step backward so he was closer to his pack mates, the sheer protective rage coming off of them making him slightly dizzy for a second.

"Dude, why are you here and why are you messing around kidnapping librarians and stealing Grimoires?"

"Well now little wolf," Klaus half-smirked, taking a casual step forward "I don't think that's any of your business"

"I don't give a shit what you think man," Stiles replied, thoroughly pissed off now, and getting impatient. He wanted the Grimoires back along with the librarian girl and answers as to why Klaus was poking around in town looking up werewolf lore and using Stefan as his pawn again "I'm making it my business. So c'mon," Stiles snapped "why the hell are you fucking around in Beacon Hills, and where is the librarian?"

Klaus raised his eyebrows at him for a few seconds, red lips curved into a soft line. Stiles could have sworn he saw his eyes flash yellow, but it could have been a trick of the light because a literal second later Klaus had zoomed past him, grabbed Isaac by the curls, yanked Stefan back up to full height, and had his hand in Isaac's chest cavity with his hand around his heart ready to rip it out. Stiles let out a roar of pure fury, lowering into a defensive position, guttural, gravelly pants of air rasping through his altered lungs and stamina, Derek in a near identical poise beside him, jaw twitching, fangs elongated, faces twitching between wolf and human.

"Let him go," Stiles half-yelled, surprised he wasn't having a heart attack with the amount of anger pulsing and throbbing through his body, thumping in his head, sharpening his senses a hundred times more acutely.

"You think you can demand things from me?" Klaus growled back at him, façade cracking a little as how own anger began to show "you don't get to interrogate me Stiles," Klaus spat his name like it was poison and had opened his mouth to say something before Stiles' eyes narrowed hard, his bones cracked audibly and he howled in enmity as a wave of heat and power burst from him, knocking everyone back a couple of paces. Klaus and Stefan were coughing and growling in agony then, Stiles' breathing deep and laboured, Derek scrambling back to his feet as Stiles' two targets keened and yelled out in pain. Stiles lifted an arm sharply in front of him, two fingers out and pointed directly at Klaus. Nothing happened for a small moment before Klaus' hand was slowly forced out from Isaac's chest, stiffly trying to fight back against the sheer length of ballistic energy radiating from Stiles' and failing miserably.

"I'm a reasonable dude," Stiles spoke harshly, claws on his left, unused hand scraping softly against each other before he brought his other arm up, watching with satisfaction as Klaus and Stefan flew back against the wall, both struggling against invisible bonds being concentrated by Stiles' hands "but you just laid your hands on my pack, my cutest little puppy actually," he carried on, walking forwards, Derek moving to get an unconscious Isaac up to full height, slinking him over his shoulder, half watching all of Stiles' actions in shock and… well yes, slight fear "so whether you're the original vampire or werewolf or whatever, you just got in my bad books – it's killing me not to make a Hulk reference right now – and that's not a good place to be. I'm still a kid remember, not even in my twenties yet, and I'm really hormonal and I have an attention deficit disorder and I'm quite murderous at the moment, so I'm going to tell you this once," Stiles was right up against Klaus' face now, breath fanning over his furious features "if you ever hurt or threaten someone I care about ever again I'll peel the skin from your bones strip by strip without even touching you and then I'll make you eat it and-" he broke off, a small smile creeping up the corner of his mouth "I will even let your sister watch"

* * *

"Stiles," Lydia's voice barely registered with him the first time, it was only when she slapped him across the back of the head that he startled dramatically and almost fell off his chair, recovering and clutching at the back of his head as he glared at her. She raised her eyebrows at him and slapped him again.

"Don't flash your eyes at me you little shit," she snapped, holding his gaze. He eventually gave up and huffed, dropping his forehead to the desk in front of him and groaning loudly. The rest of the class were yacking loudly so no one was alarmed by his sudden expression of dismay. They were supposed to be discussing the context of humour in The Millers Tale or something, but all Stiles had managed to come up with, looking down at his notebook, was 'girls want the D'. Chaucer was quite interesting normally, but he was moon drunk from the night before and he was still pissed at himself for angering one of the most powerful creatures on the planet with age old daddy issues.

"Sorry," he sighed, resisting the urge to whine or whimper. He hated the day after the full moon, it always had him wanting to hide away in a hole and claw at himself until he had a hold of his instincts properly "I'm just a bit jumpy today," he said, rubbing at his temples and squinting a little at the whiteboard.

"Well don't take it out on me," she replied reproachfully, taking his hand nonetheless and covering it with both of her own, rubbing at his knuckles. Pack contact always calmed him down a little and it wasn't so weird for him anymore that all he wanted to do was bury his face in her strawberry blonde hair and ignore the world. But scenting in public normally looked a bit fishy and more like he was molesting her than using her presence to stop him from ripping someone's head off with his claws.

"Have you heard anything from Klaus?" she asked, a small frown furrowing her brow "Bonnie said it's normally a good sign if you haven't, he might have skipped town," she suggested. Stiles scoffed and shook his head mildly.

"I threatened him and Stefan and then told him I'd torture him and let his maniac sister in on some voyeurism. I don't think he's leaving it alone Lydia," he said slightly bitterly "I think he's biding his time to make us nervous. Dudes like Klaus get off on that"

She didn't say anything for a little while and he took that as an indication that she was just as worked up about it as he was. It was scary, loving people who were human in a secret world of dangerous superhuman predators that you couldn't tell them about. Lydia was human, she was breakable and would die much faster than they would. It was probably why Jackson was practically attached to her hip every second of the day in the last week; he was just as terrified of Klaus getting to the humans he cared about as Stiles was.

And Stiles had told Scott before, he couldn't save everyone, no matter how much he wanted to.

Maybe he was being hyper vigilant again, but his wolf instincts were going crazy waiting for something to threaten the pack again, and he was jumping out of his freaking skin every time he saw or heard anything a little out of the ordinary. He just wished he could get a damn hold on this anger already because it was buzzing away at his gut after every full moon and he was fed up of it.

* * *

"Shit," he cursed, jumping out of bed, stumbling as the sheets, tangled around his leg and midriff, followed him. "Shit shit shit shit shit," he was in the house, completely alone, and he hadn't felt any aversion to that until now. Fuck this wasn't happening. It wasn't real. It wasn't true. His chest was already tightening and he heaved for Oxygen that didn't seem present as he struggled to pull his jeans on, finally, eventually getting the zipper up. He grabbed a t-shirt from a random surface, not bothering to give a shit about whether it was his or Derek's, his entire torso aching with the possibility of what he might have to deal with.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to be feeling, how this was panning out, but he was automatically dialling Derek's number without even thinking about it, already half sobbing, his head throbbing from lack of the gasses needed for respiration.

"The s-s-station," he coughed, urging, his gag reflex being triggered "d-dad," he managed, still stumbling as he pushed out through the front door, almost tripping down the porch, his world spinning, spiralling out of control.

"Stiles, what-"

"V-vampire!" he choked, having to take a second out of his incessant journey to his jeep, arching forward, hands on his knees, supporting his upper body weight as his efforts to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside of his body failed. He tried to swallow but his throat was scratchy and closed over and he wanted to stand back up to full height but his reality was blurring around him and – jesus fucking christ, so much for being superhuman. There was no way he was surviving this, not if his dad wasn't.

But moments later there were hands grabbing at his face, forcing him up, trying to get him to focus, to breathe. That familiar scent over-rided his nervous system and as a warm forehead pressed against his, he slowly managed to gain back some of his body's basic functions.

"Keys," the voice he knew so well said, speaking in one sentence words; normally it would bother him, but right now he needed short, snappy results and he needed to get to his father, to this car crash or whatever the fuck it was that the station were alerting him of, but refused to give specific details for.

He was helped into the front passenger seat of his jeep at top speed and he tried to slow his breathing further, eyes glistening, brain thrumming as his neurotransmitters worked at returning him to normal.

Breathe. In. Out.

Breathe. In. Out.

* * *

It wasn't working. Nothing was fucking working. It had been three days and it still wasn't working. He still couldn't compute it, couldn't register the reality of it, couldn't move, think, sleep, eat. Breathe. How was he supposed to come back from that? How was he even supposed to carry on with his life, look at another person without bursting into tears, screaming at the top of his lungs, prevent himself from puking his guts up.

He had already done all of those things and this was the result; him sat in the corner of his room on his bed, curled up in a ball, shaking violently, throat dry and scratchy from all the retching and yelling, eyes sore from the sheer amount of tears that had fallen, skin tight and itchy, dry blood collecting on his hands where his nails had dug in.

He wanted to move at the very least, to make a vamp joke in a morbid tone that would have people looking at him like they didn't know whether they were allowed to laugh or not. He wanted to get up and hit something, to throw a plate or-

Jesus Christ he couldn't take this anymore. Suddenly his legs weren't shaking and they were carrying him fast down the stairs into the kitchen, and he wasn't crying, he was buzzing and his eyes were wide and he was furious. His claws were out, his fangs were elongating and his pupils dilated, flashing red as he grabbed the nearest thing and flung it at the wall, growling loudly as it smashed and shattered into hundreds of pieces. The sound pulled something out from inside of him and he grabbed something again, a mug, and repeated it, smashing his foot into cupboards as the wood splintered against his heightened strength, his skin breaking and then healing automatically, bones in his toes snapping and then fixing back into place.

He slashed his hand across the worktop and pruned at the sound of everything clattering across the floor, fracturing and flying through the air, cracking. Before he knew it, he was on the floor again, sobbing through his organs, gasping and begging for oxygen, crying at the top of his lungs, claws dragging across the tiles. Then it burst from him, his head snapping upwards at the moon, howling deafeningly. It was a terrible sound, one of anguish and agony and desolation and it filled his lungs up, ripping through him before he dropped hunched forward, heart beating a million times a minute, bones aching with the sheer force of his grief.

He stayed there then, not even crying, not even bothering to sit up straight or wipe his face and pull himself together. He felt deflated, lost, terrified. Both of them were gone now.

He was an orphan.

* * *

They'd gotten over the worst of winter when Derek first noticed a sign of recovery. Now they could work with the light of the sun streaming through the kitchen and the smell of paint and aerosol wafting around with the occasional hint of scrambled eggs when Derek made Stiles stop to eat.

They'd been at it for hours and as the afternoon haziness and relaxation began to set in, the radio became part of the background, forgotten until suddenly, without realising it, Stiles started humming along to the music jump starting a slow, rattling beat accompanied by a half-decent voice. Derek didn't recognise it to begin with, and Stiles didn't even realise that Derek had stopped to watch, mid brush stroke, Stiles simply continued to paint the wall in time with the music.

"If I asked you for good news," he sang along quietly "would you smile and turn away?"

Oh crud. The song was relevant and Stiles still hadn't picked up on it, he was just… singing. Murmuring parts of it that he didn't know the lyrics to, and dancing a little, bobbing his head and neck. Derek couldn't bring himself to point it out, to switch the song over or interrupt. This was the most animated his boyfriend had been in months, the closest he had looked to… alive. And Derek knew these moments, he used to have them in the months following the death of his family; falters in time when his mind was so distracted and lost in content physicality, that he forgot, just for a small while, that he was an orphan, that he was a seventeen year old boy with nothing in the world but his distraught older sister.

After a couple more seconds of watching Stiles move around, eyes completely lost in the work he was doing with the paintbrush, he went back to his own job, covering the breast wall with the dark purple Stiles had picked out from their local DIY store.

They went though a series of weirdly transfixing songs with the type of beat that had you so strung along by your activity that by the time they were finished, you'd done half of what you were supposed to be doing and were finished by the end of the third one. It was a mixture of different singers ranging from acoustic versions of Brendon Urie's Girls/Girls/Boys, Macklemore's Same Love, Of Monsters and Men's From Finner and Slow and Steady, and Pierce the Veil's King for a Day and You Me at Six's Bite My Tongue. Derek even had a moment of nostalgia when MCR's Teenagers clicked on, although he didn't mention that out loud either – Stiles would love nothing more than for Derek to give him fuel for a bunch of emo/punk kid jokes and he'd be damned if he let him have it.

He rolled his eyes when Stiles jumped up on the kitchen table top in his usual gravity defying fashion, dancing around and singing along to Counting Stars by One Republic, swinging around and using his paint brush as a microphone. Derek tried his best to keep a straight face, he really did, but Stiles tried to grab a hold of the kitchen light to swing on it, missed his grip and ended up on the floor on his ass, pouting up at him with a furrowed brow. Derek couldn't help the twitching of his mouth into a small smile of amusement as he huffed, uncrossed his arms from his chest, and yanked Stiles to his feet, pressing a small peck to his nose and going back to his work.

It was the best day they'd had in a very long time, and one of the last they'd have together in an even longer while.

* * *

"Isaac, can I have a word with you?" Stiles spoke quietly after yet another pack meeting of sitting on the sidelines and watching his pack talking and planning and relaxing. He made the odd comment, but otherwise kept shtum. It wasn't intended, it was just that most of the time he felt that if he opened his mouth, he would chuck up the contents of his stomach again. But he'd been putting off this conversation for over a month now and his solicitor was bugging him to get it sorted, and it would be the perfect opportunity to try and convince at least one person that he was doing okay.

"Sure man," Isaac grinned as Stiles pulled him to the side and the rest of the pack filed out. Derek left them to it, and it hurt even more that the dude wasn't even listening in on their conversation. How could Stiles really do this? How could he leave his family like this, leave Derek who was being ridiculously respectful of him of late.

"You're living with Derek again now, right?" Stiles asked although he already knew that was the case. Isaac nodded with a small frown "well he's… sorta told me on his grumpy Derek level that he enjoys having you around, but I know you feel like a bit of a nuisance sometimes and I think, as honorary pack second alpha mommy person thing, that you should have your own space-"

"Stiles, where is this going?" Isaac interrupted him. Stiles huffed, letting out a tired sigh and slumping his shoulders from where he was perched on the back of the sofa.

"I want to give you my house"

"What?!" Isaac's eyes shot open wide and his mouth dropped open. Stiles put his hands up in defence, looking him straight in the eye.

"I don't want to live there anymore, but I don't want to sell it, and I know you need a place to live that isn't around Derek 24/7. So," Stiles spoke in a slower, calming tone "I want you to have it. All you have to do is sign a few bits of paper, my solicitor guy will wave his weird personalised pen, and you can move in next month," he said, as if it was the simplest thing ever. Isaac stared at him in shock for a little while longer, his mouth bobbing open and closed before he finally shut it and started pacing back and forth on the other side of the coffee table, ruffling the back of his hair roughly and breathing heavily. Stiles didn't interrupt, he didn't like talking much lately anyway, so he just let Isaac mull it over in that pretty little head of his, and sat waiting for a response.

"If I take this, where are you going?" Isaac asked. Shit. Stiles was counting on him not going over that variable. Fuckity fuck fuck shit. He shifted and squirmed under Isaac's demanding gaze, completely at loss for how to explain what he was doing.

"Stiles," he snapped "where the hell are you running to?"

No no no. He wasn't ready to deal with this, he couldn't even look at Isaac for fuck sake.

"Stiles, you're one of my best friends, I know you, where are you hiding to?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed tightly, trying to get his breathing under control.

"I'm- I'm going to university," he said, not expecting for Isaac's face to light up and to be tackled to the ground by a giant puppy hug.

"That's amazing!" Isaac half-yelled "that's – wow that's so great for you!" he said, moving back so Stiles could scramble back to his feet and brush himself off.

"Wow, don't get too sad," he grumbled.

"Oh don't be stupid," Isaac sighed "of course it'll be devastating when you go, but like I said, you're one of my best friends and you need a bit of space and some happiness"

Stiles wanted to punch the air with glee. He was actually so relieved that the first person he had told was happy for him, and wanted him to go for what he wanted. He was fully aware that he'd be yelled at a lot when the rest of the pack found out, but that was okay, because one person thought he was doing the right thing and didn't think he was crazy, and that was saner than he had felt in weeks since making the decision to leave.


	7. Old laundry

This is a really long chapter, just a heads up.

I'm half awake so I can't really think of much to say about this apart from the usual, read, enjoy, review.

AND HAPPY TEEN WOLF 3B DAY!

Deexxx

* * *

"Stay"

Stiles froze completely, feet catching in place without moving, breath not flowing through his windpipes. He couldn't have heard it, he didn't want to have heard it. Because there was no way Derek had asked that. There was no way he would make himself that emotionally bare, exposed. Derek didn't selfishly ask anyone for anything anymore.

But the sound had really been there, the word had really been released into the air and Stiles had really heard it and Derek had really said it.

How the hell was he supposed to leave now? How was he supposed to walk away from that? It had been so long, so difficult, so much had happened, they had experienced so much as a pack, and Stiles had lost his purity as a human, as a person. Not that he was ever that pure in the first place. Oh it was all so confusing, so stressful, so messy. It was so full of jigsaws and mazes and fear and adrenaline and it was clear, and blurry all at the same time. For three years it had been nothing but paradoxes and oxymorons, and Stiles couldn't think straight, he couldn't breathe.

And he _needed_ to do this. He _needed_ clarity. He _needed _a normal life, away from the supernatural taboo that was his home town. He _couldn't_ stay. He couldn't do this for Derek.

As he drew in a harsh, deep intake of breath that hurt and corrupted his aching lungs and took a step forward, his back to his alpha, it broke him. It killed him inside. Around him, his world crumbled like a slow motion action shot in a film by Chris Nolan or JJ Abrams, aspects of his reality flying about as rubble around him, cutting into things, smashing things.

But he kept walking, and he kept on moving and not once did he look back, because he knew that if he did, he would never have been able to get out.

* * *

Stiles didn't really know what he was doing, or really why he was doing it.

Okay, he totally knew _why_, he just didn't get how he was managing to put himself through so much fucking _pain _without completely losing his mind. He was sort of just walking. Yeah, that's what he was doing. He was walking and he had a take-out coffee in his hand that he didn't recall buying, and a bag on his shoulder full of newly brought books and he was shrugging his hoodie around him tighter and he was focusing on breathing and walking and – oh okay he had somehow ended up at his lecture hall. He didn't remember looking at the map to see where it was that morning, but apparently his mind had photographed it and had been leading him to where he needed to be without him realising.

Stiles wasn't used to thinking with his head. Normally he made decisions based on his heart and how he was feeling and how he felt about the people involved.

But it seemed to be working okay for him so far because he took a deep breath and followed the students filing into the lecture theatre, swallowing the lump in his throat threatening to make him turn around and run in the opposite direction. _No_, he thought furiously, dragging himself forward to a seat on the far right of the room in one of the more secluded blocks where not many people were sat. Behind him he was pretty sure there was a dude sniffing a line of crack, but about five seats to his left there was a guy with dark shaggy hair and soft looking skin that was wearing a tee with Daleks on it. Stiles relaxed a little. These were his kind of people.

"Okay, a new load of lost little borderlines. Let's see what we got in the collection this year, and we can make a start on how many of you actually give a shit about literature..." his professor's voice trailed off in his head, his vocal cords reacting only once in reply when his name was called. Stiles sat back, spine hunched slightly, hands playing with the holes of wear in the long sleeves of his hoodie, thoughts wondering off again.

Stiles lost himself in the smells and sounds for a few moments, allowing things to slip through time around him. Tea, coffee; specifically Starbucks with a hint of Costa. American Apparel clothing, nicotine, morning breath, sex, stale alcohol from the night previous, paper, new books, perfume, aftershave, cheap shower gel. He let himself drift further, and began to touch on the emotions, the feelings, the essences of thoughts; fatigue, hunger, giddiness, concentration, a few whispers of heartbreak in some auras, slight fear, homesickness, passion for the subject. The sounds of pens and pencils scratching the date into their notebooks, the tip tap of nails on desks, someone faintly humming to Bastille, texting, gum being chewed, sighs of sleepiness. All so _normal_. So real.

The cute dude on his left asked him for a pen even though he looked like the kind of person that would stab themselves in the face if they forgot more than one item in their pencil case. Stiles obliged however, smiling slightly at the grin the kid gave him and making a small effort to turn what little attention span he had, to the man that would be teaching them for the next three years.

Stiles took notes on their book log for the first term, doodled idly on the corner of the page, zoning out every now and again when he thought he could get away with it, and perked up only when he was told they would be studying myth, lore and legend when they came back after vacation.

Not that Stiles would be going anywhere for vacation of course, he planned to stay in his dorm room watching lots of Netflix and masturbating. He really didn't have anyone he particularly wanted to visit without having a compulsive urge to rip his heart out of his chest so he didn't have to deal with crippling anxiety and pain. He wanted to put as much time between him and Beacon Hills as he possibly could, although he highly doubted that he would be able to get out of being Scott's best man in a couple of years. Other than that, he never really wanted to go back there again. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to leave, and that's not what he wanted. Not what he needed.

And this was about _him_.

He was putting himself first for once.

"Stiles, how long have you been not listening to me?" a voice cut through the cloud of blurriness he had created around himself, and he jumped up in his chair, wiping the drool from his chin, swallowing to wet his dry throat.

"Uhh..." he started guiltily. Cassie huffed, rolling her eyes and sitting back from her laptop, swivelling in her chair so she was faced more at his angle.

"Look, I get that you've got this big secret that makes you miserable all the time and everything, but Stiles, you could at least make an effort to _look_ like you're paying attention to me," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Three years before starting her first year at university, Cassie had undergone extensive chemotherapy for a rather aggressive bout of breast cancer. She had only just had another year clear, he had even gone to the appointment with her. They were really different people, they saw the world in different ways, and Stiles never spoke about his life, whereas Cassie never _stopped_ talking about her life. She was calm though, collected, quietly passionate and reserved. She knew how to talk to people, how to comfort them, how to develop understandings with them. She was extremely empathetic. And she gave Stiles hope.

He loved her.

She was a good friend.

"I'm sorry! I am! I'm just not sleeping again, I think I'll have to get another prescription of Valarium. I can't concentrate on anything. What where you talking about?" he apologised, settling comfortably in his chair once more, and watching her more intently. The Valarium would do nothing for him of course, unless he took it in dangerously large quantities; werewolves couldn't take anything that wasn't really strong and herbal.

Cassie had crazy, curly blonde hair that had grown back remarkably well and she was surprisingly curvy for someone who had been repeatedly blasted with radiation for a good part of her adolescence. She was short, at only 5ft 6, but she was nice. And smart people knew that pissing off nice people to the point where they lose their temper properly, turns them into vicious little assholes. She had large, chocolate brown eyes, creamy skin with a light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheekbones. Her smile was wide and bright and she had a habit of biting her nails until they bled.

"I was saying that I have a meeting with Sarah on Saturday morning to talk covers. I want your professional opinion," she replied simply, not pushing him on his insomnia issue; they had already argued about it, and he had shut down and she had refused to talk to him for a whole two weeks. After that, they had agreed not to have any more conversations about it, if he promised to see a GP and at least try to get some help for it.

"Uggh I hate Sarah"

"She can't help it if she looks like a pigeon"

"I don't like pigeons, I don't trust them not to shit on me"

"You don't trust anyone not to shit on you Stiles, you have paranoia issues as big as my hair"

That shut him up. He simply nodded at her request for his presence at her meeting on Saturday, and sulked for the rest of the afternoon whilst he tried to work through his writers block. He drank three cups of coffee, consumed an entire jumbo pack of spicy doritos, and got worked up about the essay he had due in the next morning. He finished it at four in the morning, and after emailing it to his teacher, dragged himself back to his dorm from the library, collapsing on his bed and falling into a sleep the moment his head hit his pillow.

He dreamt of home.

He woke in a cold sweat when his alarm went off, and he had to run to the bathroom to be sick. He didn't move from the floor of his en-suit for the rest of the day. He didn't tell anyone about it.

* * *

"Mr Stilinski"

"Sarah," he nodded, a deliberately fake smile plastered across his face as he adjusted his blazer and shook her hand across the table before sitting down next to Cassie. He hated this office. It was too clean, too spotless. It smelt bare, empty, wrong. So did Sarah. Not to mention the bitch was a total predatory cougar, which was so not cool.

"I trust you have ideas Cassie," she grinned, flashing her bright white teeth. Stiles withheld the urge to stamp on her foot underneath the desk.

"Of course I do, I have too many. I have four serious ones though, and Stiles has two that he thinks could be our final covers," Cassie replied. Sarah's eyes twitched for a moment and he knew she was looking down her nose at him. Either that or she was staring at his crotch; both were very realistic possibilities.

"Well, lets see these... brilliant ideas of Mr Stilinski's then, shall we?"

Stiles spent the next thirty minutes refraining from ripping the bitch's throat out with his claws. Being in this mood wasn't good, but being in a room with Sarah sort of forced him into having to use his anchor to hold back shifting; Cassie didn't know anything, and he intended to keep it that way. When the two women were halfway through drawing up a conclusion, Stiles' phone rang and he had to leave the room to answer it. He was pretty damn glad of the excuse to not have to look at Sarah for another second if he was being honest.

"Hello?"

"Hey batman"

His shoulders tensed for a moment before they slumped and he put his hands in the pockets of his trousers, leaning against the wall.

"Catwoman," he replied, a smile stretching along his lips as he held the device to his ear. Erica's voice seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders for a moment, and he let out a breath of relief.

"How is uni life treating you?" she asked. He wasn't sure how to answer. How was he supposed to tell her that he was aching for the place that did nothing but bring him pain? How was he supposed to word how fucking guilty he felt for leaving the pack, for pursuing a life so different in comparison to the place he had grown up in? How was he supposed to tell her that he missed Derek every second of the day, and that dreams of home made him curl up on his bathroom floor sobbing for days at a time?

"Awesome!" he lied easily, focusing hard on keeping his heartbeat steady, and his breath relaxed "I'm nearly done with the book; I have a meeting with my agreed literary agent on Monday afternoon, I just have to push through the access to dip into my inheritance and it should be out in the next eight months," he said, putting on his expertly enthusiastic voice. He didn't want Erica worrying about him, she would genuinely drive down to the university if she thought something was up, and that was the last thing he wanted; talking on the phone was one thing, but face to face contact would hurt too much.

"Wow! You're actually going to be a published author, that is so weird. You better invite me to red carpets, I would rock the fuck out of one of those dresses. I can be your beard!" she exclaimed excitedly, and for a moment, Stiles forgot everything that had happened; he could just have been talking to his friend on the phone on a normal Saturday morning. But it caught up with him, and he only just managed to cover up his nostalgia.

"Erica, you know I'm out, right? I don't need a beard"

"I don't care, I want to be your red carpet partner when you're dating Chris Colfer and tripping over camera cables live on TV"

Stiles let himself get carried away thinking about dating Chris Colfer, he didn't realise that Erica had started rambling animatedly about Isaac leaving the toilet seat up (which Stiles didn't even understand because Isaac owned Stiles' old house, and Erica didn't even live there), and Scott proposing to Allison and Boyd being really good in bed. He noticed that she cleverly avoided mentioning Derek, and Stiles mentally thanked her. He was a good liar, but he didn't think he would be able to brush it off if he had a panic attack over the phone because his friend had simply said the name of his fellow pack alpha and ex-boyfriend that he may or may not be helplessly in love with.

"Email me after your meeting on Monday Stiles, let me know how it goes. Scott wants you to text him as well, he says he's going to kick your ass if you don't," she spoke, and he can hear the conversation coming to an end.

"Yeah sure, whatever"

"Love you batman," Erica's voice changed a little, there was a small crack in it that weakened a wound he had been licking for the past year he had spent on campus. Fuck he missed them.

"Love you too Catwoman. Now piss off or you'll make me cry in the middle of a waiting room"

* * *

The meeting with his literary agent, Josh Shouter, went well, and he was signed up to a major publishing company. For the first time in a year, he could see something good ahead, something that would help him redeem himself in his own mind. He could be doing something with his life, something productive.

If he really thought about it, in theory, he was doing very well for himself. He had only been in full time studious university for ten months, he was only nineteen, and he was about to publish his book throughout about half of America. He made a note to buy his literary agent something nice when he was making some more money. Not that Josh Shouter needed anything of course, the dude was pretty much set up for life. Josh's father owned a huge company, and after Josh had turned eighteen, he had taken over a literary branch of the business; they were investing a lot of money in Stiles' book, so he bloody well hoped that it would sell. Josh was tall, strong, charming and sweaty. He had pretty blue eyes, curly mousy brown hair, and lots of faint acne scars. He was kind, sarcastic, clever in the practical sense, and Stiles got along with him very well. He was pretty fucking lucky to have made a friend of his literary agent actually, he could have had it much worse.

His professor was proud of him too, and was putting the work in after classes and during the weekends to help Stiles out with his writing skills, doing different exercises to test and develop his grammar and vocabulary. Along with that, actual class work involving very long essays and thesis', Cassie time, internet, and sleep; Stiles was exhausted. It was a good thing though, he had decided, it kept him busy. He had so many things to think about and get done, that he rarely had any time to dwell on what he was desperately repressing at the back of his mind.

He was doing really well until Cassie asked about Isaac's post on his Facebook wall on his birthday.

He had woken to his phone vibrating madly with email notifications and texts, and he had actually thrown it across the room and buried his head in his pillow. He had forgotten about his werewolf strength however, and before he'd even left the bed, he had found himself having to order a new phone online because his current one was smashed to pieces on the far side of the room.

Cassie had come barging in at eleven in the morning with his favourite Starbucks coffee, and a giant greasy sandwich. He didn't ask where she had got it from, all he wanted to do was freaking eat the thing; definitely a good start to his birthday by anyone's standards. They had spent the next three hours curled up in his bed watching Netflix and discussing Cassie's latest girlfriend who had dumped her because she wasn't a vegan, and couldn't deal with their 'cultural differences'.

By two o'clock in the afternoon they had worked their way through the entire first season of Hannibal, deciding that Mads Mikkelsen was the most unattractive attractive person to exist, and had eaten three bags of junk food and cookies. They were planning to go out for a meal later on, and would join some other friends in town afterwards. Cassie had been scrolling through his facebook wall when she had asked the question that made him tense right up against her.

"Who's Isaac Lahey? Is he your ex-boyfriend or something? He's hot"

He panicked for a few moments, and he was pretty sure his entire life flashed before his eyes before he swallowed and shook his head.

"Nah, he's one of my best friends. He's an orphan, I let him have the house when my dad died," he finally said, putting all his effort into sounding nonchalant, getting momentarily distracted by Hugh Dance on the TV in his underwear. What? Stiles had his priorities straight, okay?

He glanced down at the message she had been referring to.

'Happy Birthday loser, have a drink on me; save the doggy treats for later. Love you'

Stiles couldn't stop the saddened smirk flitting across his mouth as he acknowledged the dog joke. Cassie traced soft patterns with her hand down the bare middle of his pectoral muscles and he knew she was trying to comfort him. It's why he kept her around, she wasn't pushy, she didn't want an answer for everything, she just sort of allowed him to... to _be_. She was exactly what he needed in his life. She looked after him, but made him think for himself as well, didn't allow him to take his shit out on her, made sure he wasn't wallowing too much. She spent birthdays with him cuddling in bed and watching a show about Hannibal Lecter and consuming enough sugar to induce a diabetic coma. She was his friend and he would always be grateful for her.

She knew about his dad dying just before he came to uni, but she didn't know anything else, and she didn't make him tell her either.

"He seems fond of you. Are you related?"

"No, we – we're sort of part of a family though. My friends, we kind of... we're a unit. Well, we _were_ anyway; I left to do new things, it sort of scattered everything about. I don't talk to them as much as I should to be honest, I'm not a good friend anymore," he sighed, running his left hand through his hair, ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth that was always there when he was anxious. Fucking past. Why wouldn't it all just go away? Could it just like, not exist, just so he could get on with his life and fuck hot guys, and hang with Cassie and get his honours degree and publish books and life in England for a while? Why did it have to be so freaking complicated? What had Stiles ever done wrong? Oh, okay, maybe not the right question to be asking himself, seeing as he was _not_ going down that road right now.

"Oh don't be fucking stupid Stiles," Cassie said.

Stiles was confused as to why she was suddenly sat up looking exasperated.

"I'm licking my wounds here – oh fucking hell with the dog jokes-"

"You're a good friend! Don't tell me you're not because I'm an ex-cancer patient which makes me automatically right about everything and no one is allowed to argue with me," she snapped, but ended up making a sarcastic comment. She slapped him for nearly laughing.

"You are a good friend. So maybe you talk a lot about everything, and don't tell me anything about your life before uni which could mean that you're a serial killer or something – please don't look like you can't deny that when I'm trying to make a point – my point is," she took a breath, sitting up a little straighter, a hand on his diaphragm to support herself "my point is that I almost died because I had something inside of me that I couldn't control, and I didn't think I would ever be happy again during that time period, I didn't think I'd get the chance to be happy. But I came to uni thinking I would be alone, and that I could deal with that; but you were here Stiles, and you are nothing like me, but I really need you in my life, especially when there is always a fifty percent chance I could die at any time."

Stiles didn't know what to say, so he just sort of stayed there propped up against his pillows, blanket tangled around them whilst she continued to watch him process what she had just told him.

"You're really good at pep talks," he finally remarked, raising an eyebrow, still looking a little numb.

"I know, it's my forte," she shrugged with a smile full of sunshine as usual. It made him want to roll his eyes and just forget everything and just be friends with her for the rest of his life and not worry about anything else.

"I've forgotten what the point of this conversation was," he frowned.

"You were telling me about how you left your family because your dad died and it's all shit; and now, I'm telling you that if you don't go back to Beacon Hills for summer break, I'm revoking your coffee privileges for the next year"

"How the fuck do you even know what it's called? I never told you where I used to live"

"I got curious"

"Of course you did-"

"Stiles, stop trying to distract me! You're going back to Beacon Hills in three months or I'm going to drag you there myself"

It was ridiculous notion, because no one would be able to drag him anywhere he didn't want to go; no one human anyway. But Cassie was giving him puppy eyes and she knew about the family and his dad and Beacon Hills and dammit why did he always pick the manipulative little puppies for best friends?

"I'll think about it," he said eventually, crossing his arms over his naked chest and sulking.

"There's something more, isn't there?" she suddenly asked, searching his face. He panicked again, but managed to simply look innocent and confused.

"I have no idea what you're talking about"

"There's another reason why you won't go back there, something different"

Correction, why did he have to pick the manipulative, _intelligent_ puppies for best friends?

"Is it a guy?" she asked, watching him carefully. He wanted really badly to hide his face, or at least shift a little under the scrutiny; but she'd suspect, and no one was allowed to hear it out loud, they couldn't because then he'd make it real, and he couldn't deal with that.

"No," he said, shaking his head once. He couldn't make eye contact, but he knew she'd guess that he was lying either way. He didn't like this, he felt like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place again.

"Bullshit, it's a guy," she said. Stiles simply sat there not looking at her, in silence. He couldn't explain it, he couldn't even begin to.

"Look," she changed her tactics so obviously, Stiles even considered shutting her out whilst he pretended to listen, but she was clever and he knew that she never said anything that didn't matter "I know what it's like, I've been like this before. It was a different situation, but I do know what it's like to be hooked on someone. When I was a kid, I knew this guy; he was really not conventionally good-looking, but I thought he was perfect.

He was a douchebag, but he had a good heart, he was sweet and intelligent and funny and I really liked him. I never had any idea whether he wanted me as well, but I remember sitting there and wanting to bang my head against a brick wall every time he liked my facebook status or nonchalantly hugged me, because I was so confused by it, I liked him so much but I couldn't do anything about it. He was in love with one of my friends of course, that was obvious, but we always had this... understanding, you know, I knew he had a lot of respect for me. I knew he gave a shit. At my prom, he asked me to dance, told me that he believed in me, that he knew I was going to be famous one day and that he was sorry for being such a prat.

Stiles, my point is, that this guy was there when I least expected him to be, when no one else was, when I was most alone. He sat by my bed in the hospital even though we weren't even that close and he made me laugh when I was dying. My _point _is, if you have someone that can make you smile even when you're ready to give up, then you need to hold onto him, you can't push him away, you can't make yourself let go of him and claim that you're doing it to make yourself happy," her voice was gentle, truthful, and when he looked into her eyes, he knew she was telling the truth, that she regretted leaving this boy behind, that it physically pained her to talk about it, despite the fact that she was over it.

Stiles hated regrets. He had so many of them. He regretted not spending more time with his father when he was alive, he regretted not telling his mother how much he really fucking loved her. He regretted being socially awkward his entire life, not fighting his own bullies, spending so much time caught up on Lydia. He regretted not paying attention when Derek's family were burnt down inside their house when Stiles was thirteen, he regretted avoiding looking at him in school the weeks following the fire because he didn't want to feel obliged to go and comfort him. He regretted a lot of things. He didn't want to add anything else to the list.

But he just couldn't do that, he couldn't go there with Derek, he'd never get out and he needed to have his own life, he needed to grow and learn and publish books and travel. Derek had his pack, his home was Beacon Hills, his house was there, his new family. He was their alpha, Stiles couldn't ask him to leave them, he wouldn't ever put him in that position.

"I don't know what you want me to do," he breathed, tears stinging his eyes, quietly clearing the lump in his throat. Cassie sighed, shoulders dropping again. She moved back down, cuddling back into him, her crazy hair tickling his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her curls, closing his eyes and pretending the world around him didn't exist.

"I want you to be you Stiles, and they are a part of who you are. You can't throw them out of your life like they're a bag of old laundry," she replied, voice barely audible as she pressed a soft kiss to the upside of his hand. He knew she was right, he really did. It didn't make it hurt any less.

* * *

"So, let's just assume that for a moment, Mother Courage knew what she was doing when she held off the deal on her son's life in order to scrounge more money, what would that represent?"

Some kid to the far side of the room answered something about her being symbolic of the selfishness of war, and using death to subconsciously make ends meet. Stiles hated Mother Courage's character, she was against everything he stood for; she was all about making money and staying alive, Stiles was about others, keeping his friends alive, his family. He did, however, on occasion, like to have new things benefiting him as a result of conflict, although, he was pretty sure that he was doomed to repeat the phrase 'this is why we can't have nice things'.

He often wondered when his optimistic attitude had disappeared, when he had kind of lost himself in moments of horrible negativity. Well, it sort of came with the package of being half man, half wolf.

The idiot behind Stiles whispering a homophobic rant to his friend, was really irritating him, pulling him out of his private thought processes. He drew in a breath to stop his annoyance from spiking, and simply clicked his fingers under the desk. The teacher asked the guy a question but his eyes widened as he tried to reply, his hands grasping his throat in shock. Well, it was simple really, Stiles was not in a good mood, and he didn't like hearing the gay basher's voice, so he took it away from him. He could practically see the disapproving look Deaton would be giving him if he had been there.

"Cain, are you feeling okay?"

"He's lost his voice sir, I don't think he can talk... at all," his fed up looking friend appeared almost relieved to find that 'Cain's voice wasn't there anymore. Stiles would reverse the spell later when he'd had enough satisfaction of watching the dude scamper around campus trying desperately to rasp out a sentence. For now, Stiles had to get enjoyment where he could.

* * *

The hoover he had bewitched to move around his dorm room froze in place and switched off immediately the moment there was a knock on his door. Stiles was sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by a matrix of papers and notes from essays and lessons. He was writing up his final piece of coursework for the semester and he had been at it since seven that morning. The sudden disturbance made his eyes flicker down to the time at the corner of his laptop screen and his eyebrows hit the top of his head when he saw that it was half one in the afternoon.

He stood up on the mattress and jumped athletically over the bed, landing on the floor and straightening his knees, moving to pull the door handle slightly to see who was bothering him when he was trying to get something done.

"I'm in the middle of this final piece Cass, can you just come back later – fuck," Stiles felt his heart jump through his chest and wrap itself around his throat as he clapped eyes on a grinning Isaac stood outside his door, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, hair slightly longer but curly as ever, eyes bright and full of enthusiasm and cheekiness just like always. Stiles was not prepared for this.

"Hey there stranger, I was in the neighbourhood," he remarked, tilting his head to the left slightly and widening his smile "this place stinks of pheromones and fast food. Man I'd forgotten how much academia reeks"

Isaac looked... well, grown up. Sort of. He still had the demeanour of a puppy, which is probably why the dude got on so well with Scott, but he somehow seemed to be, dare Stiles say it, matured. He hadn't changed much really though, and Stiles couldn't help the ridiculous grin coating his mouth when Isaac wrapped him in a tight hug.

"It looks like a bomb hit this place, what the hell are you doing? And who's Cass?"

"Cassie is the one that probably emailed you and told you that I needed someone to come and see me," Stiles assumed, making a mental note to be angry with her later on.

"Oh, that chick? She's pretty gorgeous actually, I might be having a conversation with her later, if I can help it," he replied, following Stiles into the room and plonking himself down on the spinny chair at Stiles' desk. Stiles settled himself back on the bed, but faced his friend, looking guilty and unsure of how to deal with the fact that pack scent was mingling with his dorm room. He might need to call in fumigation next week, just so that he didn't curl up in a ball and end up burying his nose in everything that Isaac had touched.

"Cassie is a smart woman and she's not stupid enough to be pulled in by your ridiculously adorable curls Isaac Lahey," Stiles insisted, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing is legs over each other, looking at him, trying to keep his inner panic from seeping into his expression.

"I'm awesome, she's awesome, there's no problem with it. Besides, I'm obviously not going to have an extended welcome here anyway, so it's not like you've got anything to worry about. I've just popped in to tell you that Erica and Boyd are getting married in two months, and you need to be there"

Stiles thought his throat was going to close over. He felt a mixture of joy for his friends, and complete and utter consternation. He was going to have to go back, to wear a suit and pretend that everything was okay, to smile and laugh and joke and drink and eat a three course meal and try not to think about the fact that his father wasn't there to laugh and joke with him. Fuck.

"Wow. She couldn't have called me and told me this herself?" Stiles asked, a bit put out. He didn't talk to them all that much, but he liked to think that Erica was the one he had the best communication with.

"She's a little sidetracked with the planning right now. For someone so laid back, she's freaking bridezilla. I've had my manly parts threatened a total of fifteen times since Boyd proposed last week and they set the date. Besides, you know, Cassie told me you're depressed so I figured it was sort of my duty to come and kick you up the ass. I didn't think you'd appreciate Derek's appearance as much as mine"

Stiles' gut did a flip – seriously man, get over it – when Derek's name was mentioned so casually. He knew Isaac was watching him, gauging his reaction.

"I don't know what I would have done," he agreed "I'm not depressed anyway, I'm stressed, it's mandatory for university students dude," Stiles replied, shrugging it off. He wasn't depressed. Stiles knew what being depressed was like; he remembered it. When he was depressed, he never used to have any enthusiasm for anything, he would skip meals, run himself stupid, sit in the dark for hours at a time staring ahead of himself, basking in the numbness. He remembered being suicidal, and this was not it.

He was past that.

It had been after his father had died. Stiles had surprisingly clear memories of it all, whereas be barely remembered a thing about when his mother had died.

He remembered being driven home by Scott afterwards whilst Derek cleaned up the body and passed it off as an animal attack, he remembered actually having to be helped into the house. He remembered not speaking a single word for days. He remembered sitting up in his bed for hours all through the night, listening to the world go on outside his house, the wind, the birds, the trees.

Then he remembered being angry, he remembered trashing his room, shifting and ripping the lounge to shreds, he remembered passing out on the floor in the kitchen from rage and grief. He remembered strong, familiar arms pulling him up after he had been curled up in the corner shaking for ten hours and he remembered being wrapped up in those arms for an uncountable amount of time before they had left him and he had been alone, numb finally, lost in something that was completely unexplainable and the denial that there was no way this had happened, there was no way that it was true.

That week he had returned to his job at the local café, speaking only when necessary and doing his chores. He tidied the house. Derek came round without talking, and they painted the walls and moved in new sofas and fixed his bedroom up all in total silence.

Half way through that month, he made the decision to begin applying to universities. He no longer needed to be locked down to the floor on full moons, and his pain was felt all through the pack. He had five thousand saved up in his bank account, and his inheritance was being discussed by his fathers solicitors. The house had been left to him, but the moment he had received the deeds, he had signed it over to Isaac, who had been temporarily living with Derek and was also an orphan. Then he had announced his planned departure to The University of California which was approximately a three hour car journey from Beacon Hills.

Derek hadn't talked to him from then right up until the moment he had left and the stupid asshat had left it until the last minute to ask Stiles to stay.

So yes, Stiles knew how bad depression could get, and right now, he wasn't depressed.

"You're not working yourself too hard or anything, are you Stiles? You're sleeping okay, eating okay? Cause werewolves still need to do that you know, our bodies aren't robotic, we still need nutrition-"

"I'm fine!" Stiles half-snapped, drawing in a sharp breath, knowing that his eyes had flashed because Isaac's eyes widened and he sat up slightly more "seriously man!" Stiles softened his tone slightly, getting a better grip on his anchor "I'm okay. It's not perfect, and sometimes it hurts a lot being away from you guys, but I love it at the same time. I'm studying my passion, I've written a book, I have a good friend; I'm doing fine so everybody just needs to stop asking me if I'm okay," Stiles repeated in an irritable tone, tensing his jaw.

There was a little bout of silence before Isaac's shoulders slumped slightly and he exhaled a rattly whisper of air. He rolled his tongue around his mouth before he nodded.

"Sure man, you're fine, whatever," Isaac wasn't buying it at all, Stiles knew that, but there wasn't anything else he could say without blurting everything out "just... I don't know, make sure that you don't go... rabid, or anything. Alphas can do that if they're separated from their pack for too long you know, they can become... I think the word was 'feral'-"

"Isaac if I take you to lunch will you stop trying to give me heart failure? I'm repressing everything okay, it's healthy, and I don't need you fucking with it because it's worked well for me so far," Stiles lied again. He had learned of course, to keep his heart beat steady when doing so, and Isaac still suspected nothing. Besides, he was pretty sure he could evoke his alpha powers if the dude didn't shut up about the pack.

"Food!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up, eyes sparkling with joy. Stiles rolled his eyes, saving his work and closing his laptop, levitating the hover back into the cupboard whilst he jumped down from the bed again, grabbing his coat and throwing it around his shoulders.

"C'mon then pup, move your ass. I'm sure we can find a steak somewhere near campus," Stiles sighed, relieved that he had successfully distracted Isaac. The food thing always worked, the dude loved it; in fact, Stiles was pretty sure that Isaac would marry food if it wasn't creepy and weird and probably illegal.

He waited for Isaac to zoom passed him out of the front door, before locking it behind him, gathering his scattered wits before he followed after his friend, preparing himself for an onslaught of emotional issues once Isaac had left. Wonderful, this was going to be so fucking easy.

Damn Cassie and her damn interference.

Stiles hated pubs. It smelt of alcohol, sexual frustration, a bitter spike of cigarette smoke clinging to fabric, and piss. It was too loud as well, his brain struggling to hone in on one conversation at a time, his supernatural hearing blaring vibrations through his mind, giving him a headache. But Isaac had been whining at him for a proper beer and some 'pup grub' as the English apparently called it, so he had been forced to bring him to the only pub on campus that cooked food.

"Just two beers please" Stiles nodded at the bar tender as they sat down on the stools, getting an all-too-friendly glance from a guy sat at the other end of the room talking to his jock friends. Stiles didn't smile back, he really wasn't in the mood for it and obviously he had Isaac with him, so he most definitely was keeping a close eye on the amount of drink they were consuming. Isaac had a knack for dragging people into partying with him; Stiles couldn't count the times they had gone out for a 'nice meal' and ended up writhing against sweaty bodies jumping to the frantic beating of dub step in nightclubs with ridiculously unimaginative names.

He was surprised Cassie wasn't already in the pub already actually, she liked to eat her lunch in there with some of her alternative acquaintances after a morning of studying the novel they had been set for the month.

"So you obviously have to tell me what your love life is like right now, it would be a shame if we didn't live up to the cliché," Isaac grinned as he scanned the laminated menu in front of him, glancing sideways at Stiles for a second. He huffed out dramatically, puffing his cheeks out as the breath left him, shrugging.

"There hasn't been a love life. I was dating someone for a few weeks when I first got here, but we sort of just decided that it wasn't going to be convenient, seeing as we were both giant balls of love sickness and heartbreak, recovering from our previously traumatic romantic conquests," he explained. Isaac coughed out a laugh, letting out a slightly sad breath. Stiles sensed the small wave of nostalgia floating from his friend. He supposed the failure of his and Derek's relationship had been something like the divorcing of parents to the rest of the pack.

"So you're stinking of frustration because you haven't been laid in ages?"

"No, I always smell like that dumbass," Stiles pouted, punching him in the arm and thanking the bar maid when she put their drinks in front of them.

Isaac ordered his food, and Stiles simply asked for a packet of crisps, not feeling like eating in case he chucked the contents of his stomach up.

Three topics of conversation later, just as Stiles was adjusting to actually having Isaac sat in front of him, animatedly telling him about the Chem class he was teaching at the high-school part time, Cassie strolled in with her rainbow coloured bag wrapped around her body, a light blue blazer over her dark blue skater dress and converses. She smiled widely, hopping up on the bar stool the other side of Stiles and stealing one of his crisps, pressing a rough kiss to Stiles' cheek.

"Having fun?" she asked them, ordering her own glass of white wine, and leaning her chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"We are now-"

"Oh my god don't even start," Stiles shook his head, mortified.

"Are you going to kill me later?" Cassie asked, nibbling on her bottom lip and looking both guilty and mischievous.

"I haven't decided yet," Stiles replied dully, drinking some more of his beer as Cass struck up a conversation with Isaac who had shifted into outrageous flirting mode.

It wasn't that bad actually, he kinda felt relaxed in a way, able to let his emotions tangle slightly as they talked, going through four beers before he had even realised it and, as it got into the later hours of the afternoon, and then evening, they ended up dancing, spinning and jumping and dramatically swooping; they probably looked like mental patients to the rest of the pub, but Stiles was having proper fun for the first time in a little while, so he didn't much care.

They stumbled out of there about half past midnight. Stiles and Isaac weren't drunk of course, their werewolf status sort of preventing the alcohol from doing anything more than perhaps making them a little less tight lipped than normal. Cassie, however, as the unsuspecting human, was slurring and laughing loudly, and she kept hugging them both extra tightly, calling them her 'cuddle monsters'. Stiles pretended not to notice that she gave Isaac her number when they walked her back to her dorm, and wondered slightly if it was going to be more difficult to deal with if Isaac was going to become a permanent fixture in his life again.

He was certainly feeling the pain creeping up on him again as Isaac walked him to the front door of his dorm block, hands in his pockets, breath visible in the air. Stiles could sense the sadness flowing from him too, and it stung like a bitch.

"You can crash here you know, you-"

"Nah, I'm going to run for a while, get your scent off before I go back to the motel. It won't be received well if I turn up back home stinking of you, Derek might actually die," Isaac cut him off, and Stiles even caught a little bit of bitterness in his tone.

"Right, sure. Well, I'll – I'll definitely be at the wedding if you just text me the date and time. I might come back a couple of days early actually, if you don't mind me staying at your place," he suggested. It hurt full force now, and he couldn't really hide it. He didn't want to say goodbye again, Isaac was one of the pups, one of his best friends, he loved him and he missed being around him a lot. God Stiles had to stop himself thinking, he was going soft.

"You're always welcome, it was your house first man. I – well, I guess I'll – see you later then," he said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Stiles nodded, swallowing before huffing out a breath of irritation, and yanking Isaac in for another hug, burying his nose in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling pack and home and everything that was familiar. The wolf was sighing at him, tutting at his behaviour, angry at him for depriving himself of it all.

"We miss you Stiles" Isaac mumbled, and Stiles couldn't help the clog of emotion in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes "we miss you so much."

* * *

Stiles looked awesome in a well fitted suit, okay. He always had done; something he had learned over the years was that his beanpole figure was perfect for Westwood blazers and trousers, and Cassie, his honorary date to the wedding, had brought him a new silk, dark purple tie, claiming that his old one looked like it belonged to her dead grandfather. He also found that the decision to grow his hair out slightly in the last couple of years had been a very good one, the smart load of slightly messy hair ontop of his head made him look a lot more solid, and filled out his face, which, when it wasn't pale with anxiety and lack of sunlight, was actually quite attractive.

Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew he had come into his own.

Cassie of course, the big ball of bright sunshine that she was, was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet excited. He still didn't understand how she managed to move so fucking gracefully in those ridiculously high black heels she was wearing with a blue dress that was body hugging to her thighs, but had a longer back in the form of a soft netting, stopping at her ankles. Her hair was blonde and curly as ever and she had painted her lips in a dark red colour, a line of black subtly shaping her eyelids as she grinned at him in the mirror where he was leant in the doorway behind her, hands in his pockets, a fond smile on his face.

"It's a crime against women that you're gay you know, you're really quite gorgeous," she sighed, clasping her purse shut and standing up from her dressing table.

"Ah bullshit, it won't be me they're looking at when we walk in. You look beautiful by the way, as if you didn't already know," he replied, brushing off her compliment and returning it in his usual teasing fashion. She grinned even wider and nodded, holding out a hand for him to take as she moved a little closer. He stood up straight, slipping forward a step and accepting the palm of her soft, manicured hand against his.

"Stop freaking out Stiles, it's going to be fine. You won't even have to talk to him for that long, Erica told you already that you're not placed next to him at the pack table. Besides, you'll have me, I'll be there. And Scott, and Isaac. Plenty of your other things to keep you busy, even if I think it's completely unhealthy that you're refusing to really have much interaction with the guy that you're in _love_ with, but whatever, I can't force you to talk to him," she said, pulling him forward so he tripped into her and ended up hugging her tightly, arms wrapped around her waist, face buried in her hair.

"Its-"

"Complicated. It always is when they're special," she sighed again against his shoulder and pulled away, reaching up to cup the side of his face momentarily "but this isn't about Derek. It's your friend's wedding, how about we make it about Erica and Boyd today, hmm?" she suggested sternly despite keeping the soft edge to her tone. He drew in a shaky, steadying breath and swallowed, straightening out his back and nodding once, plastering his Stiles smile across his face and brightening his eyes; it was a mask he'd have to wear all day.

"I'm just going to go toilet before we go," she said, heading towards the en-suit. He rolled his eyes and moved back towards the door.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he called after her sprinting down the staircase that used to belong to him, and his father before that. Now it was Isaac's, and one that the nineteen year old seemed to be keeping well; Stiles was confident he hadn't made a mistake in giving it to his friend. It would be a good place for Isaac to live for a very long time, and maybe even build a family in one day. There was little here but memories for Stiles; he could sleep in his old bed and eat breakfast in the kitchen in the morning, but he couldn't do it regularly and he most certainly wouldn't be able to keep his sanity if he had kept the entire place to himself. He didn't think his dad would mind, he'd probably tell him well done, for giving it to someone who really needed it, and who would look after it better than Stiles ever could.

Isaac looked at home there anyway, comfortable. It was just right for him.

And so when he accepted the beer Isaac offered him from the old refrigerator, Stiles smiled; at least he had gotten something right.

* * *

Stiles was trying really, desperately hard not to shake or blurt out random drabbling about stupid, insignificant things. By the time they got to the church, he was clutching a hold of Cassie's hand for dear life and had his jaw clenched, his lips in the only default thin smile he could really manage at that point. Every muscle in his body was crying out at him to just ditch it. To let go of Cass' hand and go running at the speed of light into the forest as far away as he could get from his friends as possible.

At the same time, he was routed to the destination, kissing people's cheeks as they greeted him with soft face pats and that pitying look in their eyes that made him have to work harder than ever to keep his temper, to use his anchor and keep it under control.

But he could already feel the bastard, smell him and his damn cologne. He had a feeling that history or not, he'd be able to pick Derek out from the crowd if he was still back at his house two miles away because he stank of terror and nerves and… well, yeah, the same thing that Stiles was probably emitting at that point.

"Man up," Cass hissed at him from his right "you're going to break my damn hand," she snapped.

He immediately loosened his grip, pressing an apologetic kiss to the top of her head through her curls, and taking a step forward, feeling his heart beat quicken, his stomach drop, and his knees get wobbly.

"Seriously you're a complete fool sometimes Stiles," Cass sighed, taking the lead and pulling him forward down the aisle to their allocated seats. Thank god Erica had the decency to at least not put him in the same row as Derek, although it might have been even worse, that anomaly sat right behind him, living and breathing and most likely looking absolutely delicious in a designer suit. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and swallowed hard, sitting up straighter and exhaling through his nose, forcing himself to relax as much as he could, still grasping on Cassie's hand.

"Stop fussing," that voice froze Stiles in place for a second as he could practically feel the low, quiet decibels tickling the hairs at the back of his neck "I sorted the caterer, there's no way he's forgetting anything"

Stiles almost smiled as Scott replied with a moody grumble. Stiles knew exactly what 'sorted' meant. Really, some things never changed; and Derek's aptitude for terrifying people into doing things for him was one of them.

"This is beautiful!" Cassie breathed, big wide eyes fawning over the church's architecture, the white lilies tastefully hanging off certain bannisters, draped over several surfaces, twirled intricately around the organ at the back of the room; it _was_ beautiful, he had to admit. Erica had done an amazing job. But then, he never doubted her; if she wanted something done perfectly, she'd do it herself and god help the dumbass who stood in her way.

"Not as beautiful as you," Isaac grinned as he sat down next to Cassie, winking at her and reaching over her lap to place a firm, grounding hand on Stiles' knee "calm down. You look like someone's about to carve out your spleen," he said in a soft tone, smiling still with one side of his mouth. Stiles smiled back, knowing for a fact that Derek had heard.

"Its only morning," Stiles replied with another rattly breath in "there's still time for that to happen"

"I'm not ruling it out," Derek's voice spoke in a slightly hushed tone and Stiles heard every syllable even though he was sat right back against the wooden benches "it is you after all. It wouldn't be a pack event without someone getting something ripped out of their body"

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Stiles smiled yet again, not being able to help himself. It was true. Although he was glad Cassie hadn't heard it with her human ears; that might have been a little bit of an alarm bell for her to run a mile, and he had few friends away from home these days.

"Always count on me," Stiles whispered back "but now I have claws, so anything can happen"

* * *

"Oh jesus no, we are not letting Scott near fireworks ever again," Stiles shook his head absolutely, everyone laughing at Scott's sulky little pout. Stiles leaned back against his chair, one arm lazily resting around the back of Cassie's as she sipped on her glass of wine and listened intently to every word the pack were saying around the table; she was charismatic as ever, and chatted easily with everyone, making them laugh, awh and stare at her with fascination as she talked about herself and her life just at the right moments, not seeming too cocky or self-involved, yet interesting and considerate. Isaac, as expected, spent the whole time hitting on her, putting on his sexiest puppy dog look, fully aware of how handsome he looked in his tux.

Stiles was weary of how much they were touching her though, a hand on the arm in the middle of a conversation, an shoulder pressed against hers when they were stood up, socialising with other people, the occasional affectionate hug; he didn't want them to get too comfortable, he knew what they were like for scent marking, he was even being careful not to let them touch _him_ too much, let alone Cassie. They were very good at keeping their wolfishness under wraps when they were around humans, Stiles noticed that they had actually got significantly better; apart from the touching, Cassie couldn't have noticed a thing. That's if she didn't already know, and simply hadn't told him; she was like that, intuitive, she found out the impossible when she put her mind to it. He was still pretty damn sure she could read what he was thinking sometimes.

"Dude, that was one time," Scott defended himself, and it only made everyone laugh even more. The conversation took another turn after that and Stiles let himself relax a little more into the background, his fingers subconsciously playing with a couple of Cassie's curls whilst they all talked, all listening as she animatedly talked about the time she dated a Greek guy with an Irish accent. He could feel eyes on him of course, he had felt them watching him from the moment the wedding had started; he wasn't stupid, he knew when someone was staring at him, he just chose to ignore it. The moment he moved his head to meet those eyes, things would go downhill, and he couldn't let that happen, not when he was doing so well at convincing everyone he was okay.

"I could have sworn something was funny with the guy though, he was always sniffing at me, touching me; and he was very territorial, like a dog. Actually, his whole family was like that," Cassie frowned as she talked about the Irish Greek. She had told Stiles about it before, and he had come to his own conclusions that she had indeed probably been unknowingly dating a werewolf for a small part of her life. A Greek Irish werewolf apparently, so he was able to cover up the shared looks of the pack by intercepting and dropping in an anecdote about Greece he had read in the library the other day; that lead on to Greek food, which lead onto fast food and everyone's favourite meals and then snacks and so forth, doggy hides successfully saved.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure no one ever taught you how to use doors," Stiles remarked without having to turn around as he carried on packing and Derek dropped through his window, moving to sit on the desk chair. It was such a normal thing for him to do, so regular and familiar, that Stiles very nearly forgot everything that had happened. Nearly.

"Maybe I just have a thing for this particular window," Derek replied, and Stiles could feel his eyes on his back again, and Derek's voice was low and smaller than normal, which meant that he was treading on egg shells, unsure of what his boundaries were. Stiles couldn't blame the guy for being uncertain, it wasn't like they had ever really parted on excellent, clear terms free of crippling pain and betrayal. But there was still an unspoken understanding between them both, and that would never really go away.

"Maybe you're just really fucking weird and you're never going to grow out of your creepy stalker tendencies," Stiles half-smiled even though he still had his back to his ex-boyfriend, and took the last couple of sweaters from the bed, folding them and putting them in his suitcase.

They had ended up staying for an extra couple of weeks because – well, because Cassie was a persistent bitch when she wanted to be, and she had the same ability as Lydia when it came to getting people to give her what she wanted, werewolf or not. Still, Stiles was persistent and determined as well, it was a Stilinski gene, and if he wanted to avoid someone, he was bloody good at it, and he had been avoiding Derek like the plague apart from when it was completely inevitable.

"Oh didn't you hear? I do it for a living now, I'm very good at it," Derek's voice floated around the room again and Stiles raised his eyebrows, letting out a breathy laugh and zipping the case up, turning around for the first time and leaning back against it, crossing his arms over his chest, deliberately not meeting Derek's eyes.

"So you're funny now, well hey funny guy, use the damn door next time, okay?" he teased further, dropping his head to the left on his neck and chewing the inside of his mouth.

"It's more interesting this way. You're leaving then?" Derek gestured, abruptly ending the playful atmosphere, as usual, bringing Stiles back down to earth and making him momentarily panic.

"Yeah, just waiting on Cassie to get her shit together, then we're going back to campus, we've got classes on Monday morning," he nodded, straightening his head again and looking down at the floor, nibbling on his lip this time, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say to make it better, what he was supposed to do to convey how much he really didn't want to leave that room.

"Is Isaac driving you back up there?" Derek asked. He wasn't making small talk, he wanted to know how Stiles was getting back to his dorms, and if it would be safe. Stiles wanted to stab himself in the face with his claws.

"Yeah, then he's staying over in my dorm; it's only a three hour car journey, but he's my beta, and special healing juju or not, I don't want him driving back through the night," Stiles tried to explain it in a way that didn't touch on the pack dynamics, because that was a sensitive subject, but there wasn't really any other way he could think of right then to describe the fact that there was no way that as a second alpha, he was letting one of his betas drive through the night by himself. He'd seen too many horror movies to allow it.

"Shame, you could have stuck around a little longer, Cass seems to have won everyone over; Erica loves her. I'm starting to think she might actually-"

"Can we not do that?" Stiles interrupted with a quiet, almost pained expression, hanging his head slightly "can we not make every encounter we have about them? I know they're supposed to be like our kids and everything, but we did that too much for too long and I know what you're doing when you talk about them to me, it just means you're deflecting from talking about us," he swallowed, unable to help himself. It had to be said.

"That's all you've been doing for the last two weeks. The last three years actually," Derek retorted, sounding slightly irritated and very, very bitter. That's not what Stiles meant, not what he wanted. He didn't want to leave on bad terms again, he didn't want to fight. It had always been default of their relationship, to argue, poke at each other's weak spots; it was one of the reasons they had been so compatible, one of the reasons they had so much chemistry. But this was too much, and he was already so broken, and expecting to spend the next few weeks pining in his dorm room between lectures, he didn't want the added guilt of having left on an argument with the person he loved the most in the world.

"I know," Stiles replied stoically "I know that, and I'm sorry, I'm a coward. We both are. But I don't want this," he breathed the last couple of words almost desperately, the strength leaving his body slightly "I don't want to keep hurting you every time I say goodbye and I don't want you to hate me"

There was a silence between them before Derek let out a very obviously controlled breath, clenching his jaw slightly and taking a singular step forward.

"I told you before," he said, and it was guarded and firm; but Stiles knew he was about to make himself vulnerable, so he kept his mouth shut and listened carefully "I never hated you, I could never hate you Stiles. Not even if you left a million times and we argued every single one of them. I couldn't hate you if you killed one of our betas or if you turned into a douchebag and started wearing ironic t-shirts again-"

"That buzz light year tee was awesome okay-"

"My point is," Derek half-snapped, glaring at him to be quiet "I don't hate you at all, not even a little bit. In fact…" he collected a much deeper, harsher breath and Stiles had to close his eyes and lift his head to the ceiling because he knew what was coming "you know what? Hold that, I'm not going to say it, because I know you'll beat yourself up about it, and I'll be a wreck for another six months and – why has our relationship always been so fucking unhealthy?" Derek cursed. Stiles opened his mouth ever so slightly, brought his chin down again, slowly opened his eyelids and looked straight at Derek, eyes full of sadness and held back tears.

"Because we love each other too damn much," he croaked, smiling gently. He turned then, picked up his bag, and left the room.

* * *

He was hunched over again, sat on the edge of the mountain, clad in the same black jeans, the same leather jacket and t-shirt, same black sneakers. His scalp was cradled in his hands as the wind rushed through him, over his skin, covered in a lick of sweat from running so much. The entirety of Beacon Hills shone before him, full of people sleeping, having sex, grocery shopping at three in the morning because insomnia wouldn't let them get some shut eye; people watching TV, trailing out of clubs and bars after last orders. People.

And it was getting loud again, messy. But this time it was different. This time he was used to it. Tired, exhausted and simply resigned to this feeling inside of him, this horribly wonderful feeling that made him weak and limp. This feeling that only ever lead to pain for him.

"You think you got everybody fooled, doncha?" Cora spoke as she plonked herself down next to him, shoulder pressing warmly against his, looking out on the town, mirroring his pensive look "well, not me. I've known you too long and regrettably too well, and no matter how hard you try to deny it, I can tell you care as much about him as he cares about you. Only you haven't got the big, hairy cojones to say it" she smirked a little, and he could see it out of the corner of his eyes. She was right, of course, and it terrified him as much now as it did back when he was actually with Stiles.

"Maybe I could borrow yours," he retorted, making her chuckle and shove him a little.

"Call him," she said in an almost pleading tone then "please Der, just call him and say something to him, anything. I hate seeing you like this every time he goes, it hurts and its scary and you're not going to break this cycle if you keep going on like this-"

"I don't know what you want me to say to him," he blasted "everyone wants me to make it right but I don't know how. I'm not good at this stuff Cora," he exclaimed, eyes stinging with unshed tears again "I'm not cut out for it. I'm right where I need to be and he's where he wants to be and I can't change the fact that those are two different places"

"No," she agreed "you can't, but he's your best friend and you love him, so you have to try"

And he knew – uggh he hated it – but he knew she was right.


End file.
